Waking Dreams
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: (Doctor Who AU) Life is complicated enough for Clara after an accident puts her young daughter in a coma, but through her only means of communication with the girl - an in-dream interface system - she's meets an odd company representative who promises to help her along, quite possibly in more ways than she could ever imagine.
1. Chapter 1

The beach always seemed colder in the morning, or at least that's how Clara remembered it, so that's how it felt. Wrapped in a yellow and green plaid throw, her daughter nestled against her chest, they looked out at the grey waves crashing into the rocky coastline as they hummed a tune together, waiting for the sun to begin to warm their bodies. It was creeping up over horizon, painting the sky in purples and pinks that would give way to a brilliant blue in the spots between the grey.

And maybe today it would melt away the clouds; it rarely did.

Taking a deep breath, Clara reveled in the salinity of the ocean air and she looked down at the head of thick dark hair resting against her bosom. She could see the tiny up-turned nose dotted in freckles, and she watched the round sun kissed cheeks lift slightly as the girl smiled out at the water knowing sunrise meant sand castles and exploration. It meant finding wading pools as the tide rolled out, and lifting gobs of seaweed to watch her mother make faces as she giggled; it meant critters scurrying about the rocky landscape that edged the ocean in their secret hiding space.

"Now, mummy?" The girl's voice whispered.

Clara hugged her and listened to her tiny chuckle of excitement as she breathed into her temple, "Net yet, sweetheart."

There was a restless sigh.

Laughing, Clara leaned to the left to watch her daughter's dark eyes disappear in slits as her giggles returned, and then became uncontrollable, body giving a shiver between the shakes of her laughter. Maybe they'd come too early, Clara considered, but she felt her daughter's hands slide into hers warmly and then grip, and she smiled knowing these were moments they would both remember for a lifetime. Looking to the girl who'd gone back to calmly watching the world around her, she hoped at least she would for a time.

Clara understood the memories of a child were fleeting, floating away as they grew – new memories replacing old ones; new knowledge at times warping them – but she could remember being on the beach with her own mother, huddled under a worn brown blanket decorated in pink hearts, waiting for day to replace dawn. Everything seemed simpler then, hearing her mother's voice in her ear, telling her about the boats in the distance and the way the sand would be swept out to sea and brought back again decades later with stories.

"If you listen hard enough to the wind, Clara," her mother would whisper in her ear, "You can hear those stories."

She smiled, looking back at her daughter, knowing she'd retain something of this, and she glanced out at a wave that crested and then fell against the beach with a loud crash, waiting until the rush of noise rolled away to reach up with one hand to brush the hair away from the girl's face to ask, "Maddie, will you remember this when you're older and have children of your own?"

Twisting slightly against her, the girl wrinkled her nose and giggled, "I don't want children, mummy."

She feigned disappointment, questioning, "Why's that?"

Lips dropping, Maddie stated nonchalantly, "Daddies leave," and then she turned her attention back to the ocean to ask, "Can I go play now, mummy?"

Clara remained, somewhat shocked at her daughter's statement, before mumbling incoherently and unwrapping the throw from around the child, watching her leap up and rush off. The fronts of her small feet dug holes in the sand as she ran, kicking it up behind her, and Clara felt her heart sink as she watched the girl in the little red flowered dress and black jacket drop to look into a wading pool curiously. Hands pressing into her knees, tongue settled just between her lips, Maddie studied the fish caught in those waters and then she moved to another to gasp at the new things she found.

Daddies leave.

Clara's eyes were warm with tears before she could stop them, but she pushed her hands over her cheeks to wipe them away, knowing her daughter shouldn't see her crying over that man. Not _ever_ , she'd promised herself long ago. There was no easy way to explain to a five year old that it wasn't that daddies left, it was that when men were terrible, you ran as far and as fast as you could – especially when you were holding onto precious cargo, most especially if that happened to be your children.

And sometimes terrible men became their daddies.

"Mummy, come look at this!" The child shouted, a sound of excitement following that made Clara smile.

She stood, taking a step towards her daughter at her right, but then she noticed the faint shimmer of someone in the distance at her left and she shifted, placing herself between this person and Maddie, watching him slowly come into focus, as though emerging from a mirage. Clara pulled the throw tightly around her shoulders and she gave her daughter a quick glance, seeing her kneeling before a pool, wetting the edges of her dress, before Clara looked back at the man.

His dark pant legs were rolled up slightly, skinny ankles and bony feet awkwardly making their way along the wet sand and she narrowed her eyes to see he was in a snug grey vest, the white shirt underneath flapping against his thin arms with the breeze. Clara could see him tugging at an old bowtie wrapped around his neck and she furrowed her brow as he continued coming closer.

"You're not supposed to be here," she called out, her polite warning as she turned, seeing her daughter had moved further away, something that made her heart pound heavily in her chest.

He raised a hand and waved, then dropped it, rummaging in his pockets before plucking out a white handkerchief to flip around through the air as his show of peaceful approach, and she thought she could make out the hint of a smile on his square jaw. Clara thought maybe it was the effect of the heat in the air, or the hope she had that someone had simply crossed the dream streams temporarily, but she swore it was a sheepishly friendly smile.

"Hello," he sang, both hands coming up, white handkerchief still held tightly in his left. "Don't be alarmed, I'm merely coming to do a system's check – sorry for the intrusion." He bowed his head and she watched his thick dark hair flop about comically in the wind, and when he came close enough for her to begin making out the flatness of his nose and the lines on his forehead that seemed to date the youthful appearance of his demeanor, he lifted his pale green eyes to meet hers. "Registered a bit of a blip on the radar, was dispatched to make sure all was alright."

Nodding slowly, Clara looked to her daughter as she repeated, "Blip."

She turned and he was suddenly holding a tablet in his hands, long fingers sliding clumsily over screens and poking as he shifted his jaw back and forth. "Your heart monitor gave a jump, blood pressure spiked, medical concerns, you know..."

"Medical malpractice suits, more like," she interrupted on a laugh.

He glanced up at her again, another smile on his thin lips – this one amused – as he stated, "Clever clogs, exactly that." His eyes narrowed as he asked, "Are you alright?"

Clara was nodding before he'd finished his question and she gestured back at Maddie, telling him, "Just having a day at the beach with my daughter. All's well." She pointed to his tablet, "Go on, jot it down and report it, _all's well_."

He scribbled with a stylus and then tapped at the screen absently, staring down at the information before he sighed and the objects melted away, leaving his hands awkwardly open in front of him before his body gave a wiggle and he pushed his hands deep into his pockets, eyes finding hers again to ask, "Official documenting out of the way, _are you_ alright?"

"You're a hologram," she laughed, "What does it matter?"

He pulled one hand out to raise a finger into the air, correcting with a broken voice, "I am an interface, and to me it matters very much."

Clara reached out to poke his shoulder, watching him rock back slightly and then he regained his footing to smile at her as she asked, "So you're a real man, plugged into the system?"

"Very much a real man," he started slowly, before finishing, "Very much plugged into the system."

She smiled.

He laughed and nodded to Maddie, "Having a good day with your girl then? All's in order?" He tilted his head knowingly as he continued, "Unofficially, anything you'd like to get off your chest? I am a particularly good listener, I'll have you know."

Shaking her head and giving him a polite smile, Clara pulled the throw tighter over her and she told him bluntly, "Nothing that's any of your concern, thank you."

Turning away from the hurt look on his seemingly innocent face, she began walking towards her daughter, when the man took several steps to her side, reminding her quietly, "I'm going to have to ask her as well, you understand, of course..."

Clara's feet dug into the sand as she slowed, hand coming up quickly to stop his forward momentum by pressing firmly into his chest as she shook her head and spat, "You'll do no such thing."

His hands came up and he offered, "I could supply you with the terms and conditions you signed that specifically state all persons within a controlled connected virtual dream state who experience technical or medical difficulty during the process require immediate evaluation and confirmation of health status or controlled connected virtual dream state must be halted until real life assessment can be determined..."

Jaw clenching tightly, Clara explained, "She's a child, please, just let us have this dream."

He frowned, "I'm very sorry, Ms. Oswald – I have to ask her, and in this particular instance, you know I have to do it here."

Nodding slowly and feeling somewhat betrayed, Clara bowed her head and then turned, calling, "Maddie, could you come here a moment."

The girl straightened, hands rubbing over her dress guiltily, and then she began to rush across the sand in a flurry of hurried steps. She arrived at her mother's side with a sly grin, out of breath, as she looked between her mother and the man she'd been speaking to and after a few huffs, Maddie asked, "Who is this? I thought no one else could come here," she added on a whisper, finger hovering over her lips, "Our secret spot."

Before Clara could answer though, the man shot out a long arm – palm extended – and told her brightly, "Hello, I'm the Doctor."

Clara's eyes shifted back to him in confusion as Maddie giggled and asked, "The doctor of what?" Then she smiled and asserted, "I know lots about doctors."

Frowning, Clara watched her daughter shake this man's hand as he grinned foolishly down at her to respond, "The Doctor is my name, bit of a doctor of everything, really, but today it's you." He looked to Clara and then back at Maddie and he crouched to look her in the eye and ask, "How are you feeling today, Madeline?"

Nodding her head back to the waters, Maddie offered, "I've seen seven kinds of fish and a crab and something mashed up that once might have been a crab." She frowned and huffed a breath before smiling again and gripping Clara's thigh to tell him, "Good, sir, I feel good today."

Head tilting back, the Doctor's mouth opened in a silent laugh before he responded, "That's good, Madeline, that's very good to hear."

"Now you know," Clara stated curtly. She nodded to the distance behind him and explained, "You can go now."

He straightened and looked her over, nodding and then telling her softly, "Honestly, Ms. Oswald, it's only a precaution – for your health and the health of your daughter – because I care." He then leaned forward to whisper, "Any other agent would have simply made a visual acknowledgement and we both know, given Madeline's current state, it's probably best to probe further than a simple superficial glance."

Clara felt her heart catch as he dropped back onto his heels to smile down at Maddie, currently grinning up at him, and Clara nodded slowly, responding quietly, "Thank you."

There came a sigh from his thin lips and then he nodded bashfully and she swore his cheeks reddened just a tiny bit before he allowed, "With your permission, I'll be assigning myself to your case file – ensure that, should there be any future issues, a familiar face for your daughter would be around to check on you."

Maddie gave a small hop and looked up at Clara, giving her the subtlest of nods and Clara brushed a hand over her dark hair, exhaling as she glanced back at the Doctor and responded hesitantly, "Permission granted."

With a cheerful grin, he extended his hand and Clara reached out to take it, understanding this was an official acknowledgement of her statement and she gave it one quick shake before withdrawing her palm and watching him wave to Maddie before blinking out of existence. She frowned, and then looked out at the calm ocean and the birds shrieking overhead.

"Does the sky seem bluer, mummy?" Maddie questioned curiously.

Clara laughed, but she did have to admit, it was brighter and bluer than she'd ever seen in a dreamscape and she bent to tickle her daughter quickly, listening to her laughter before she said, "Let's go exploring!"

Her daughter rushed away with a squeal and before she knew it, they were lying back in the sand, her daughter spread over Clara's crossed legs, the girl's fingers tracing clouds in the sky as she breathed up at her, "I'm tired, mummy."

Nodding, Clara reached forward to touch her temple, just as she kissed her forehead, and she whispered gently on a nod, "Then go back to sleep."

She jerked awake in bed, breathing erratic as she reached up to tug the nodules off each of her temples and the one at her chest to toss them onto the machine that sat atop her bedside table. Clara opened her eyes and looked to the darkened room before turning to glance at the blue display on her digital clock, seeing that it read five in the morning. More than enough time, she told herself as she pulled herself out of bed for a quick shower before readying for work and rushing out the door, knowing she could have a few minutes if she hurried.

The car zipped through the light early morning traffic on her instructions towards a hospital in the heart of a city of glistening silver spires and soon Clara was listening to her heels click along the recently polished floor as she made her way through the lobby and onto the lift, then into the halls, scanning her badge at security pads to allow her access into the ward and then the private room. It was her father's doing, the autumn colored walls and a framed painting made to resemble a window overlooking the fake skyline of London, and Clara smiled every time she moved through that door remembering his words as she looked to her child, lying in a hospital bed, as if lost to a dream in a deep sleep.

"If she wakes, Clara, she should be home," he'd told her.

Of course, it wasn't allowed. Maddie required monitoring and physical therapy and sadly it was more affordable for Clara if the girl remained in the care of hospice. The only other option was quitting her job, or hiring a full time nurse, and risking her daughter's health by taking her home – the latter she refused to do. Her daughter had been through enough, she'd decided long ago.

Quietly moving around the bed, Clara switched on a television that hung against the wall and she smiled at the cartoons, raising the volume and looking to Maddie's pale face, completely still in spite of the noise, and then to the machines beside her. They beeped, lines racing their way in zigzags of differing heights across a screen in an array of colors, and she took a long breath knowing her daughter's condition hadn't changed. Chances were slim they ever would, she knew. But she held onto that slim chance, smiling at the girl as she sat calmly in the chair beside her, reaching up to brush her fingers through thick bangs the mirrored her own.

"That was a funny adventure last night, sweet pea," Clara told her. "I'm sorry we were interrupted." On a laugh, she continued "But did you see his bowtie? Wasn't that the silliest thing you've ever seen?" Clara watched her daughter breathe in and out steadily, her small chest rising and falling with the lines on the screens beside her. She ran the backs of her fingers over the girl's smooth cheek and touched her heart, feeling for the familiar beats as her eyes closed. "He was a silly man," she offered, hands shifting to take the small one lying on the bed in front of her.

Lifting it to her lips, she pressed a warm kiss to Maddie's fingers and felt her throat constrict remembering just how they used to hold her hand. How they used to twirl her hair and scribble with crayons and smash at her food. Clara could remember the first time she held that very hand and how those slender fingers had wrapped themselves around her thumb as they cried together.

Dreams, she knew, could offer memories of touch, but they couldn't replicate it in the same way. At least that's what everyone would always tell her. After a year of dreams, she wasn't sure that was the exact truth. She wasn't truly sure what the truth of it was at all except that she knew what her daughter felt like and she felt it every night they spent together.

"Mummy's off to work, Maddie, but I promise I'll be back."

With trembling lips, she settled her hand back on the bed beside her tiny body and for a moment she watched it, hoping against hope that just one of her fingers would twitch. They would tell her it was some automatic reflex, they'd done so before, but Clara waited anyways. For just a minute; the same minute she gave completely to hope every time she visited. Some sign that Maddie understood her mother was there in that moment – because she never remembered in dreams and it broke Clara's heart every night. Maddie knew of only their dreams, but she had no knowledge of the time in between and Clara swallowed the lump in her throat over the thought as she bent to kiss the girl's forehead and then each of her cheeks before forcing herself to walk from that room.

Forcing herself to leave her daughter behind.


	2. Chapter 2

Clara Oswald taught at a small school in a suburb near her flat; mostly children her daughter's age, and she considered herself one of the best – the teacher the children asked for even after they'd gone from her classrooms. Entering the halls of that school, she smiled at the chaos of small heads bobbing about, heading towards the waving arms of men and women ready to usher in a new day of learning. She bowed her head with a huff, she _hoped_ they learned. Pausing at the entrance to her own classroom, she thought about her daughter, knowing she'd have to push her aside for a few hours and she considered, not for the first time, how much she'd looked forward to having the little girl in her school.

They'd been prepping for it before the accident.

Maddie had made herself a calendar, counting down the days to the next school year and she eagerly looked over homework and lesson plans Clara brought home. She nestled into her lap in the early evening, just before bed, to ask quietly, "Teach me something I need to know for school, mummy," because she wanted to be smarter than all of the others. To impress her, Clara knew.

Chuckling softly to herself, Clara's fingertips brushing the wood before her and then she filed the memory away and raised her head. Confidence, she knew, and unyielding discipline – they were what got her through the day and kept all of those bright eyes firmly on her.

Pushing open the door to her classroom, she listened to the giggles that erupted automatically, excitement about the day oozing out of their skins and she raised a finger to her lips, eyes widening as she looked out at all of the small faces as their bodies straightening at their desks, each lifting a small finger to place in front of grins they couldn't quite squelch. Settling her bag down atop the right side of her desk, Clara dropped her hands to either side of calendar that sat there and she scanned the class for all the familiar faces, noting that everyone was accounted for, and then she took a breath and gave them a bright smile.

"Everyone ready?" She questioned excitedly.

Some days it felt as though she spent all day on her feet; some days she knew she did. When she finally stopped and dropped back into the chair behind her desk as the last of the students rushed out with a scream that cut short just outside of the door – no doubt at the sight of the Headmaster – it was with a sigh, and finally a frown. She leaned her elbows into her desk and propped her head up by her fingertips, looking down at the drawings and mess of papers in front of her.

"Not so sharp today, are we Oswald," came a booming Scottish voice from the doorway, and Clara turned with a weak smile to look at the gangly redheaded woman standing there, holding the doorframe, giving her a fake pout before she giggled and swung into the room, long brown suede skirt swaying. Her whole self seemed to be swaying, Clara thought. Hair flowing over her shoulders, cream colored sleeves like wings at her sides as she twisted them, making her way to lean into the desk in front of her.

Clara nodded slowly, reaching to straighten the papers and artwork and she offered, "Just exhausted after a very long day, Amy."

The light laughter stopped and the woman sighed, "You went to see her again, didn't you."

"I visit her as often as I can," she responded on a nervous giggle, eyes lifting to look at the frown her friend wore.

Amy pressed her lips together, and her head gave a shake before she stated, "Y'know what I mean, Clara – you do know you're supposed to limit your time in that virtual dream world rubbish..."

"It's not _rubbish_ ," Clara snapped, standing; trying to be intimidating in spite of the ridiculous height difference between them. She looked up at Amy and reminded, less harshly, "It's the only way I can spend real time with her."

Nodding slowly, Amy whispered as timidly as possible, "You understand it's not _real_."

Glancing to the door, Clara narrowed her eyes to look back and ask, "Don't you have things to do?" Her tone was sharp and her jaw was tight as she waited, looking to the woman now hanging her head shamefully as she flicked at nothing absently on Clara's desk.

Amy raised her light eyes to meet Clara's, seeing the fierceness in those dark pools, understanding very well what that time meant to her and she told her quietly, "I'm sorry, Clara, you know I didn't mean it like that."

Turning away, Clara nodded, eyes closing as she twisted her neck to crack it before responding, "I know," one hand came up slightly as she repeated, "I know you know, Amy, that you'd give..." she stopped, looking up into the eyes of another mother who'd had to say goodbye to their child – only for good – and she smiled up at her sympathetically to explain, "I'm just tired of hearing it's not real time; that they're not real interactions. They're _very real_ to me."

Amy gave a weak smile and shook her head, "Sometimes I think about it, if Melody were still here, if I'd have the strength to go through that with her, knowing in the morning she'd still be lying in that bed."

Straightening slightly, Clara breathed, "I'm sorry, Amy."

"No," Amy stated firmly, eyes avoiding hers, "No, your girl barely lived and mine, she died; neither one of us is better off."

But the truth of it was Clara knew Amy, in a small and often hidden way, resented that Clara still _had_ a child to visit while Amy had a grave, and she turned away from her ginger friend, feeling the awkwardness of that moment hanging in the air between them. They'd long ago decided it was foolish to fight over fault and guilt and jealousy and despair, and so they fell into silence as Clara pushed her papers into her bag while Amy continued to pick at the desk.

Head tilting, Amy asked her curiously, "Do you think she'll remember it all, when she wakes up?"

Giving her a genuinely appreciative smile, knowing so many had told her to give up hope she'd ever see Maddie's eyes open again in the real world, Clara shrugged and told her honestly, "I don't know."

Amy grinned sadly, and finished for her, "You can only hope."

They looked to one another, both, Clara knew, thinking back on a night spent in an emergency room frantic about their children. And just as quickly, they both shook the memories away, Amy gesturing towards the door as Clara pointed, neither speaking for a moment. It saddened Clara that their friendship had dissolved into this over the past year. She knew she should be thankful there was a friendship left at all, but sometimes she thought about how they used to talk for hours after work, trading stories of husbands and children while looking over the day's assignments.

Travel, she thought as they began walking, they both wanted to travel and had gladly put it on hold for motherhood. It used to be something they'd talk about; it was the thing that had brought them together in a staff meeting almost seven years prior, when Amy had leaned into her, after slipping down in her chair, to whisper of the Headmaster, "Does the birthmark on his bald head remind you of Australia?"

Now they made awkward conversation here and there. Every so often they sat together at lunch and they shared little anecdotes between bites of their meals. They'd sent each other heartfelt cards on their birthdays and small gifts on the birthdays of their daughters. They _tried_ , Clara knew, and that was what mattered.

"Need a ride back to the hospital?" Amy asked her knowingly as they moved through the open doorway.

Clara smiled up at her and sighed, "No, got my dad's car today – drives itself mostly, which is good." Her body gave a slight tremble at the thought of driving and she felt the other woman touch her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze to stop her steps.

"Hey," she stated, fingers rubbing at Clara's shoulder reassuringly through her cardigan, "Come on, I'll drive you, we'll sing to her and pretend Melody's there – just like old times, right?"

Watching her a moment, Clara considered politely declining, but she eventually gave a nod, the left corner of her lips lifting slightly to dot her cheek with a dimple and the duo quietly made their way to Amy's car, Clara's hands shaking as she buckled herself into the passenger seat as her heart raced in her chest. The other woman pulled the car out onto the road, occasionally shouting at another driver – mostly automated ones that kept the vehicle at exactly speed limit – and something about that calmed Clara.

She wished she'd been in the car that night. Somehow she imagined both girls might have escaped the ordeal unscathed if Amy had been behind the wheel instead of herself. But that wasn't the truth and the both of them had gone over it time and time again. Clara looked to her hands, clenched together in her lap as they pulled into a parking spot, and she frowned, taking a deep breath to unclasp her fingers, looking to the indents her short nails had made in her skin.

"It still unnerves you, doesn't it?" Amy questioned, turning off the engine and clicking off her seatbelt to twist in her seat towards Clara.

She offered a small laugh in response, voice shaky as she reminded, "You know what happened."

"Have you seen someone about this?" Amy began softly, "I mean, Clara, you need to get back in the driver's seat – _literally_." She laughed, but it was hollow, and Clara didn't join her. "Sorry," Amy breathed.

Head lifting, Clara finally told her, "No, I understand – I do."

"I know we don't _talk_ the way we used to, but I worry about you a lot." The admission came without the regular shoulder punch Clara expected after sentimentality from the other woman, and she could see the sincerity in her light eyes as she nodded in acceptance.

And then she replied, "I won't lie and say I'm ok."

"Good," Amy shot with a nod before looking to the building, "Let's get going, Maddie's waiting."

There was a playful tone to her voice that brought an automatic smile to Clara's lips – she'd missed that from her friend, and she exited the vehicle to walk at her side towards a security checkpoint where Amy was given a temporary badge and Clara flashed her permanent one, holding it tightly in her hand as they entered the lift. She'd asked once, how many people had permanent badges into the hospital and the answer she had received was basic – staff, and one designated family member of terminal patients.

Looking to the photo of her deadened expression, one she knew was easily matched to her face upon entry to the building, Clara bit back tears remembering the way the woman had told her those words. Her daughter could remain in her coma for a hundred years and still be considered at death's door. She could remember the way her heart had pounded as she'd clenched her jaw and responded harshly, " _Maddie is not terminal_."

The doors of the lift opened and Clara lead the way, knowing Amy hadn't been to visit her daughter since their last fight in that very corridor. She could hear her footsteps going timidly quiet in the echo of her heels and she turned just before they reached the door to the ward, telling her mutedly, "You don't have to see her, if you don't want to."

Amy smiled and gestured to the double set of doors, "I haven't seen my gelfling in quite some time, and I believe it's time we rectified that. Don't you?"

She smirked, swiping her badge and walking through into the coma ward, turning once to see the way Amy's ordinarily pale face went grey. Clara bowed her head as she made her way towards her daughter's room, understanding it was just how people responded to the place. The nurses on duty waved to Clara and she gave them her best smile, knowing they were probably feeling good for her that she'd brought someone with her and she reached Maddie's door, gripping her badge tightly as she looked up to Amy, who merely nodded.

Swiping her badge over the plate just beside the handle, Clara pushed into the room and she grinned easily, making her way around the bed to stand beside the little girl lying still within it, looking up at Amy to gauge her reaction. Not surprised to find tears in the other woman's eyes. Amy was looking at Maddie, and she released a small laugh as she raised her eyes to Clara.

"As beautiful as I remember," she told her plainly, looking to find a chair to slide to the girl's side while Clara sat in the one she'd left that morning, inching it closer. Hand moving to brush Maddie's bangs off her forehead, Amy sighed, "Hey, little monkey, it's your aunt Amy." Then her voice closed around the sentence, "Sorry I haven't been by."

Clara watched her as she went silent, slender fingers continuing to stroke the girl's hair before she reached for a small hand, lips trembling as she brought it up to kiss. Turning, Clara found herself watching the monitors at her side, looking from jagged line to jagged line for any sign of change, and she lowered her chin to her chest, listening as Amy began to whisper.

They used to tell each other secrets, because every little girl needed a cool aunt to share their secrets with, and she closed her eyes against tears, thinking about Melody and how she used to climb into her lap, as though in competition, to whisper to her. She was a tomboy of a girl, nothing like the dainty child Clara was raising, strawberry blonde hair always tangled up in a mess of half-curls, bright eyes always looking for some new thing to explore or climb or destroy.

If Melody was up a tree, Maddie was beneath her shouting at her to get down. If Melody was running circles, Maddie was standing at the center rolling her eyes. If Melody brought a pile of junk home to build a spaceship, Maddie was at her side with a grimace and a first-aid kit. But the two girls could spend hours in a tree house in the Pond's back yard with dolls and trucks and paints and stories and Clara knew they did each other good.

Much like she felt her and Amy did for each other.

"So how does it work," Amy's voice cut through her memories and she jerked to look up at her, nodding her head towards the one machine at Maddie's side that didn't have the hospital logo stamped on it. The sliver of a black box with the blue light out of which three nodules strung their way up to Maddie's temples and at her chest, just next to her heart monitor. Clara smiled at her friend's interest, never even questioning its authenticity, and she wiped at her tear-stained face absently as she shifted forward and cleared her throat.

"The way it works normally, each box is a bit like a computer station you plug into just before bed, and you can select other users pre-entered, and once you've both hit a deep enough sleep, it flips a switch and you connect," she nodded slowly, looking Maddie over.

Amy looked to the girl as well, "But how does she..." she waved a hand, "How..." Amy trailed, not wanting to ask the obvious question, but Clara knew. It was something she'd asked, concerned about how it would work and whether hospital staff would have to be involved.

"Maddie is always connected," Clara told her, a bit ashamed. It was how it worked with comatose patients and their families. The nodules stayed on permanently and Clara changed and cleaned them every week. She sighed and explained, "She's always in that deeper level, so it's a matter of me connecting. Once I do, it registers on her machine and it connects her."

Nodding, Amy supplied, "So she's not always in that world."

"No," Clara stated, "No, that would be dangerous."

Looking over her daughter, Clara felt her heart beginning to drum faster at the thought and she could feel her friend's eyes on her, but she didn't meet them as she stated, "Isn't it dangerous for you to connect every night?" Then she added, "Doesn't it sort of deplete your energy a bit?"

She smiled and she answered honestly, "Not really," she hesitated and then told her, "And yes."

Because it was a half-sleep, or at least that's what they called it. You were in your deepest levels of sleep, during which you should be getting your greatest rest, but it activated your mind in a different way – in a way that was almost like waking. Governments and health agencies were still arguing the legalities and the technicalities; wanting to impose time limits and more restrictions. Because Clara knew for every person using it to connect to a loved one, there were those who used it for more nefarious purposes, bypassing laws in a dream state.

Sighing, Clara looked to Amy and asked, "I thought you'd done this, with Rory, after..." she didn't dare say her daughter's name aloud; Clara knew she'd lost that right. During a heated argument after a month of rising tensions, standing not far from that very spot, the last time Amy had come to visit.

" _You want me to say it, Amy? That I'm glad it was my daughter and not Melody..._ "

" _Don't you dare say her name! Not ever again_."

Clara could still feel the sting of Amy's palm on her cheek, and she could still see the way Rory glared at her from the other woman's side, his jaw clenched tightly as he grabbed Amy's arm to pull her away. She hadn't ever been able to complete her thought – that it would never have occurred to Clara to think it – that one child's life meant more than the other. She knew, in her heart, Amy and Rory knew that as well, it had simply been the last terrible night in a month's worth of terrible nights that started with a simple sentence.

" _Aunt Clara, is that car following us_?"

Her body shivered and she heard Amy call her name, heard her chuckle softly and tell her, "You need to rest."

Nodding, Clara looked to Maddie.

"We did the whole dream thing for therapy, after her death," Amy told her. "It was supposed to help us cope, but we kept trying to re-create her in dreams." Clara snorted and Amy reached across the bed to give her temple a tap, "Not like that, pervert." Clara smiled up at her, watched the amusement on her face give way to confusion as she began, "We tried to dream her, but since we were both doing it, they kept turning into nightmares – our baby girl would be perfectly fine, and then we'd see her how she was after the crash." Her head shook, a refusal to think any more on it, and she looked back to Clara. "We stopped, decided to heal our own way."

Clara smiled up at her and Amy nodded.

"Yes," she agreed. "Massive amounts of sex."

They stared at one another for a moment, both passing a look at Maddie's sleeping face, both thinking the same – it was a ridiculous statement, but said in front of a child... Amy lips spread into a wide smile as Clara's giggles began. They grew louder and louder until that laughter dissolved into tears because she'd forgotten how good it felt and she felt guilty for feeling it with her daughter lying in a coma at her side. And soon she was nestled in her friend's arms, that other woman's hands running soothingly over her hair and down her back, singing just like she'd promised, until visiting hours were over.


	3. Chapter 3

Standing next to her father's car in the car park, Clara looked to the keys in her hands, listening to them shake as she unlocked the door and climbed in. Her body gave a jump as Amy honked her horn to wave goodbye, driving off as soon as Clara waved back – and Clara knew she'd seen the trembling of the item she held, she could see that fleeting glimpse of a frown on her friend's round pale face just before she drove off. Maybe, Clara considered, this was the first step in reconciling their relationship properly; maybe, Clara hoped, it was a new beginning.

Bowing her head, she pushed the key into the ignition and turned the engine over, listening to it hum for a moment before it asked her destination. All she had to do was get it on the main road and it would handle the rest of the route for her, unless she switched the car over to manual – though she seldom did. Her stomach turned at just the thought and she closed her eyes after the car took over, happy to get a few minutes rest, though she knew they would never come. Her heart was racing in her chest as she listened to the zooms of other cars passing her. The honks and distant screeches each came with cold jolts to her heart.

Some part of her imagined they always would. Because those sounds and lights would always push her mind back to a day she continually tried to forget. A day that should never have been, but she just didn't _run away_ quite fast enough. Clara opened her eyes when the car rolled to a stop at a red light, a polite female voice letting her know auto pilot would disengage in two miles, and she reached up to grip the wheel, feeling the leather rub against her skin as she looked out at the road ahead of her.

"Disengage auto-pilot," she commanded.

She knew it was safer to remove it herself than be unprepared, though she knew cars came to an automatic stop if their drivers weren't detected to have taken over. But she swallowed nervously anyways as the light turned green and she pressed her foot gingerly to the accelerator, taking a quick breath when the engine sent a quick grumble through the car. Amy was right – she had to start taking baby steps towards being able to drive herself.

Pulling into the driveway of the complex, she looked up at the rows of lights, wondering if her dad was up in his flat, wondering when she'd get home. She smiled because she knew he worried, and she carefully pulled the car into the space beside her own and stepped out to lock it and glance at the vehicle beside her. It had been a replacement her father had taken care of for her while she'd been in the hospital after the accident. Just like the car that had perished in the accident – small blue sedan, four doors, and complete manual operation because Clara used to be afraid of automatic vehicles.

She thought they were more likely to crash.

Touching the door handle, she sighed, "Irony," but she knew that wasn't the truth. She hadn't crashed, it hadn't been a mere accident – her daughter's father had tried to kill her, she thought as she turned to make her way towards the building and up into the lift to take her up to her flat. Upon entering, she could see the blinking light on her answering machine and she set her schoolwork and purse down on the dining room table before going to press the button, listening as it beeped and an automated tone rang out.

A man cleared his throat and then stated in a gruffly Scottish accent that reminded Clara of a grumpy Amy, "Hello, I'm calling from the DeepDream Institute to confirm your in-dream agreement with operator 1112; operator 1112 has now been designated as your personal interface with the DeepDream Institute with regards to any problems, issues, or concerns you may have. If you feel you've made this agreement in error, please contact the DeepDream Inst..." Clara clicked the delete button.

"Operator 1112," she said to the empty room. "Silly man with the bow tie," she continued before laughing to herself and shaking her head. Moving through the apartment, she went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of red wine before plucking a carton of leftovers Indian food out from her refrigerator to take back to the dining room, sitting at the table to pull her class work free from her bag.

An hour later she was lying in bed, nodules pressed firmly into her temples and chest, hands folded on her stomach, eyes closed. She knew she was exhausted and she knew she would fall into a deep sleep quickly – the pill she'd taken just before changing into her nightie guaranteed it – but she was surprised to close her eyes and almost immediately be standing in a white space.

It was a sort of waiting room, they'd explained. Sometimes the connection with other parties in the dream state was instant, it usually was with her and Maddie, because of the girl's condition, but sometimes people waited. And she smiled as the white around her filled in. The skies went blue and the ground went green, life springing up around her bare ankles, and somewhere in the distance she could hear wind playing through trees and then Maddie was there, giggling up at her from her side. Clara could remind herself a thousand times that they were only dreams, but she didn't care, everything was more vibrant when her daughter was with her and she smiled down at her before they both looked around.

The field bloomed with white tulips and Clara reached her right hand out, fingers wiggling slightly as she heard the laughter from Maddie in response. She glanced sideways without turning her head and smirked, feeling the warmth of her daughter's hand settling into hers just before they began to swing their arms together. Her heart gave a wonderful jump just before they began to run through the flowers with a shared scream of excitement. They made it to the middle of the field when Maddie released her, remaining silent and still as Clara slowed to a stop a few feet away, turning to look at the concerned expression tainting her child's innocent face.

"Maddie, what's wrong?" She questioned.

The girl glanced back and then she stated firmly, "We're killing the flowers."

Clara could see the path they had cut and she shook her head, telling the girl gently, "It's alright, Maddie, it's more like we've put them to sleep – they'll wake in the morning to look up at the sun."

But Maddie's breathing had become erratic, her dark eyes widening to look out at the bent stalks and Clara watched as they began to go brown, wilting quickly as she took a breath and shook her head. "Mummy," her daughter whined.

"Maddie, no, it's alright," Clara begged. If her child dissolved their world into a nightmare, Clara would wake and the dream would disconnect. If the dream disconnected, she would have to spend an hour on the phone with agent 1112 before she'd be allowed to even _attempt_ to connect again.

Health concerns, he would site; Maddie's condition, he would remind.

The girl bent and touched one of the deadened flowers and it suddenly shifted, twisting and curling and then opening up the petals of the tulips like the mouth of a serpent and Maddie shouted as she jumped back. And suddenly Clara was a hundred feet away, leaping over snake flowers, trying to steady her heartbeat as she called out quickly, "Maddie, it's not real, it's fine, close your eyes!"

But her daughter had no idea they were in a dream state and the girl let out a blood curdling scream cut short only by an odd whistling that gained both their attentions. Clara's head jerked up to see the Doctor standing just a few steps from Maddie, a calm smile on his stupid face as he waited for the girl to look up at him.

"You're back," the girl stated as his whistling came to a stop, and then she asked, "Will you help us?"

Clara watched him curiously, eyes narrowed as her mind raced with questions – had they the ability to step in so easily? Why had they never done it before? Who was this particular agent 1112 and why had he popped up twice in two nights? Did she _know_ him?

He bent and reached a hand out to the tulip and placed his fingers underneath the mouth, making a shushing noise and Clara watched the flower close up, its teeth disappearing as it returned to its normal flowery state. The effect seemed to ripple out from the spot where he stood and she imagined it was some sort of training, manipulating the dream state; training she wished she had. Clara felt the distance between her and her daughter closing, refocusing, and soon she had her hands on the child's shoulders, pulling her into a hug as she watched the stranger standing in front of her, hands pushed into his pockets, hair flapping on a light breeze.

"Thank you," she told him simply, with a small nod of appreciation.

"You're very welcome," he replied, tablet appearing in hand so he could jot down notes.

"What are you writing?" Maddie asked him quickly.

He smiled, and he turned it to her and Clara could see it was a drawing of a smiley face – a child holding a flower – and she listened to her daughter giggle as she hugged Clara tighter. And then the girl released her and stepped towards the Doctor, reaching for the tablet without asking, and she began to scribble on it as the Doctor met Clara's gaze. She smiled, feeling a bit embarrassed, but unwilling to apologize for her daughter's bluntness. She didn't think he expected it though, he merely watched her with an odd serenity on his face.

"I'm beginning to think I've made you up," she told him.

He laughed, breathy and soft, and he shook his head, asking, "Now why would you think that?"

 _Because you're here for us_ , she thought to herself, hating herself for even having the thought and she blushed, turning away to ask him, "How did you do that, with the flowers?"

The Doctor laughed lightly and she looked up to see him tap his temple before clasping his hands together in front of him, bending and then crouching to get Maddie's attention to explain, "Your mind is more powerful than you know, Madeline – anything you can think can happen and anything you can remember can be brought back. Did you know that?" He took the tablet back, looking to the flowers she'd added to his drawing with a grin.

Maddie smiled and shook her head, fingers reaching to clutch at Clara's long skirt, more out of timidity than fear for the man now nodding. Maddie asked, "Are we trapped in a dream?"

Clara frowned and her hand brushed over the girl's head just before she looked up at her, aiming the question now at her mother and not the strange man. Taking a long breath, Clara admitted, "We're in a dream..." and her breath caught in her throat because she realized her daughter had no idea she'd been in an accident here. Her daughter didn't know she was lying in a hospital in a coma with a high probability of never waking. She looked into the sad eyes staring up at her, the question begging to be answered, knowing there was more, and Clara could feel her eyes warming.

"Madeline, you're dreaming," the Doctor told her quietly, "But you are certainly not trapped."

"Mummy?"

Clara smiled then, nodding her head, "He's got a stupid bow tie, but he's right, we're in your mind – your imagination – and you know what I've said about that?"

"We've got small heads," she giggled and then they both finished together with a shared smile, "But they're bigger on the inside."

"Are you alright now, Madeline?" The Doctor questioned, and Clara frowned when her girl turned to look at him, because she knew he had to ask and she knew it would be jotted down somewhere that got printed up and handed over to a psychologist. Analysis, they'd told her, whether it was good for Maddie or not to continue. She knew, and agreed, her daughter's health was more important than Clara's need to see her child in the most normal state she could currently achieve.

The girl smiled and she released Clara, telling them both, "I'm fine now – can I run about in the tulips now that they're not trying to bite me?"

"Of course you can," Clara laughed, demeanor shifting brightly until the girl darted off and she looked back to the Doctor with a frown to say, "It was just a nightmare, just _temporary_ , it's not something that needs to be explicated further and doted on."

He nodded, slowly, standing and straightening as Clara remained, her hands now coming together nervously in front of her. _Blimey_ , she thought, _he's tall_ , but the truth of it was that she was short, and barefoot. There was a moment in which he stared at the space beside her, where the girl had been, and he was considering something – something that made Clara's heart give a jump and it was then that he quickly turned his attention to her.

"Did you feel that?" She questioned.

He gestured, "Your heart rate jumping from 78 to 90 for just a split second?" His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head towards her to explain, "We're connected in this dream state, in a way similar to your connection to Madeline."

Thumb jutting out towards the girl running in wide circles with her arms held out, Clara questioned, "Are you connected to her as well?"

He sighed, and told her apologetically, "Ms. Oswald, it's necessary."

Her eyes closed and her hands came out to wave in front of her as she told him, "No, I'm not upset about it, I understand it's probably protocol," her eyes opened and she told him honestly, "I was just curious, how it worked, between us all."

There was a small smile tucked in the right corner of his lips and for a moment he watched her, she imagined he was gauging her intelligence. Or, she considered, he was offline having a laugh with a co-worker, she had no clue how the 'customer service' truly worked within the dream world. Then his head flipped back slightly, trying to clear his eyes of the mess of hair continually falling forward and he began to draw in the air. Puffs of smoky lines that connected a figure lying down to a box to circle to a box to another figure lying down.

"Standard connection: user, relay box, network, relay box, user."

Clara nodded and he drew an odd stick figure above; one, she noted, that wore a bow tie. It made her laugh as he wiped a spot clean between each line connecting the relay box to the network to draw a connective line between this new figure and that space, where he made dots. "You," she stated.

"Me," he said simply with a smug grin.

Clara curled her finger and thumb around her chin, examining it before asking, "So you stand between the relay box and the DeepDream Institute?" She watched his body give a full wave of a nod and she sighed, understanding, "So you decide what they know about this and what they don't."

For some reason, Clara noted, his grin grew mischievous, and then he told her, "In a sense, yes."

"Isn't that dangerous," she argued, "You could be doing anything in here."

On a shrug, he supplied, "Generally techs of my sort undergo quite a bit of psychological testing before we're allowed anywhere near the subconscious of a client. Safety," his fingers fluttered about, "All that jazz."

She laughed and then let out a small shout of surprise as Maddie 'flew' around her and then around the Doctor and continued out into the field with a small giggle, satisfied she'd frightened her mother. The Doctor's eyes followed the girl and Clara watched his smile and the way his eyes saddened. She took a long breath and then took a step closer to him, reaching out to touch his hand lightly, watching the way he snapped out of whatever daze he'd been in to look at her.

"You're here because you lost a child," she stated plainly.

His light eyes remained trained on her, momentarily lifeless in a way she recognized, before he blinked the emotionless state away and teased, "Trying to sort me out, eh?" He gestured around himself, calling, "Why does the strange old man care so much about me and my daughter? Why's he assigned himself to my case? Why's he keep showing up, twice now, by my count – _and by my I mean yours, I'm speaking your thoughts aloud, though not actually your thoughts, merely my interpretations of your thoughts_ – more than any other representative from the DeepDream Institute?"

"Why doesn't he shut up and let me speak?" Clara interrupted.

He bowed, hands coming together and then parting as though giving her permission.

"You're here because you lost a child," Clara repeated.

The Doctor's head remained low, eyes to the ground, and she waited, arms hanging loosely at her sides, suddenly frightened she'd crossed some line. But hadn't he? She started to step closer to him, but his head lifted swiftly and she stopped, watching his jaw shift; could see the redness in his eyes. And he told her simply, "Long ago, yes. And her mother."

"This is a kindness," she asserted on a nod.

He looked to Maddie, who had stopped flying about and was now examining flowers, hunched over, hands pressed into her knees, an innocent smile on her face as her mind raced over thoughts Clara could only imagine. The Doctor breathed lightly, "This is a kindness."

Clara smiled at the thought; that he might be more than just an employee doing his job and she turned, ready to ask him more, but when she had turned, he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Clara yawned as they sat in a circle, each child taking a turn reading a paragraph aloud and she heard the giggle after a moment, opening her eyes to look around at the cheerful faces. Some were covering their mouths and some were merely chuckling at her in amusement, all trying their very best not to laugh aloud, Clara understood. She'd fallen asleep. Checking her watch, she imagined ten minutes had gone by, and she shook her head, looking to them before closing her book and straightening.

"Have you ever had a restless night?" She questioned, looking at their faces. "Where you sleep and you sleep, but you're still tired in the morning?"

Trevor, a roundish boy with red hair, asked brightly, "Have you had your coffee today, Ms. Oswald?"

She laughed, telling him sheepishly, "I'm afraid it has not worked."

Alaina, a scrawny girl with olive skin and wide eyes offered, "Have you tried jumping about? Sometimes that keeps me awake when I'm tired."

The children laughed and Clara set her hands to her knees, glancing up at the clock on the wall to see there were only a few minutes left in their day. Standing, she called, "Everyone pack up your things, we're going to run a few laps around the story circle!"

There were cheers and the rumbling of small feet as they rushed to the chairs and desks that had been shifted against the walls, pushing their books and papers and drawings messily into bags in a way that made Clara's heart break. She missed opening Maddie's purple flowered bag to find the chaos inside and look to the girl who merely shrugged her tiny shoulders and asked, " _What's for dinner, mummy_?"

Now they set their bags back down and rushed into their places on the circle, each with a look of excitement on their faces as they grinned up at her, waiting. Clara clapped her hands and she gave them a devious smile before she made a counter-clockwise motion with her hand and commanded, "Come on, let's start with hops!"

They squealed, beginning to jump in place until the circle slowly moved, each hopping up and down happily as they went and Clara found herself laughing. She gave a few small jumps before stepping out of the circle and clapping her hands, listening to them shouting to one another. Challenges, she knew – _higher, faster, like a frog_! She raised her hands and watched them slow and look up at her, their tiny fists balled up and then stretching out, just waiting, bodies bubbling with an energy she missed.

Circling her arm clockwise, she called, "Become your favorite animals, and scatter!"

In a burst of motion, they began to move from the circle. They growled and barked and hopped and giggled and neighed and baa'd and Trevor howled. Clara's hands came up and flapped slightly, then her forefingers fell to her lips encouraging them to keep it down a bit and she watched them shush each other, the noise lost to tiny giggles. She couldn't imagine what the classes on either side of her were thinking, but she didn't care. They deserved a little fun, she thought.

They were children.

The bell rang shrilly and all of her animals rushed to collect their bags, filing out the door as Clara slowly began to drag chairs and desks back to their original places with a sigh. She felt no more awake, but her heart felt better, replaying Ahmed's crow and Celia's duck and William's pig. The knock on her door startled her and she glanced up to see Amy hanging there, grinning at her before she nodded and entered the room.

"Was it your class?"

"The howling?" Clara questioned.

Eyes narrowing, Amy accused playfully, "It _was_ your class." She gestured, "Heard that howl down the hall, better hope the Headmaster of Australia doesn't come in here questioning what you were teaching."

"Animal Farm," Clara replied wryly, "George Orwell. A study in chaos and tyranny and farm animals."

Amy chuckled and her hands opened to gesture at the room, "For five year olds."

Straightening, Clara told her seriously, "It's never too early to learn how to damn the man!"

Fist coming up as she steeled her expression, Amy came closer, and then her body seemed to flop, lanky extension of limbs relaxing as she began to help Clara put her classroom back together. And Clara knew she was watching her closely, just out of the corner of her eye, and she knew Amy could see the exhaustion on her. With a sigh as she set the last desk in place and glanced over the room, Clara looked to her friend, who was wiping away the writing on the boards.

"Go on," Clara prompted, moving to her desk to collect her things.

Amy swung her head around, blue eyes wide as she shrugged, "Go on what?"

"Question on your mind," Clara told her plainly, "I can see it there, just waiting for the right moment to escape – so _go on_."

Amy turned fully, setting the eraser on the lip of the board behind her and she brought her palms together tightly, long fingers extended as she winced and asked, "Did you get _any_ sleep last night?"

On a laugh, Clara stated, "You mean to ask did I get full sleep, without the dream." She shrugged, "We spent the night in a field of tulips and then had a picnic on the beach," Clara smiled at the space in front of her as she breathed, "She loves the beach."

Nodding, Amy approached her and she prompted, "Come to dinner. It'll just be me and Rory. Like old times, you know?"

Clara looked up to the smile on her friend's face, the one that was worried Clara would reject her; one that was worried Clara would feel like it was a pity date. She smiled and bowed her head, and she could already see Amy's defeat, but she nodded slowly, and responded, "Yeah, sure. Dinner would be great."

The other woman released a small squeal of excitement and Clara laughed because she was so much like a small child, in spite of her years. She'd always thought it, even when she had Melody, they were two children turning circles around each other while Rory watched. Clara feared after the girl's death, she might lose that and for a while she had, though Clara wasn't there to see it – she'd had her own recuperating to do, stuck in a hospital for a month.

And then they'd fought.

Bowing her head bashfully, Clara told Amy quietly, "Dad dropped me off, I'll just give him a ring – let him know I'll be heading back with you?" She glanced up to see the other woman nodding, already heading towards her with Clara's phone in hand, and it made her smile – she knew exactly where she kept it. "We're alright, right?" Clara asked curiously.

Amy shrugged as Clara took the phone, responding, "Why wouldn't we be?"

"It's just," Clara began, gripping the phone nervously in her right hand, left scratching absently at her wrist as she avoided Amy's stare. "Everything that happened, I understand if there are..."

"Clara," Amy interrupted, hands lifting to drop firmly onto her shoulders. "You worry too much."

"Sometimes I think you worry too little," she countered, voice wavering between playful and anxious.

And Amy was hugging her again. Another solid embrace that watered her eyes. "I've missed you," Amy told her honestly, "And you know I'm not the big showy emotion-y sort." She pushed off her slightly, standing a foot away, hands tugging lightly at the loops on her own jeans as Clara smiled up at her, understanding it was true. Amy could love with all of her heart, but she was terrible sometimes at showing it. With a wave of her arm, Amy barked, "Well, come on, let's get going – we can grade papers and talk shop while Rory cooks."

On a laugh, Clara moved to grab her bag, following Amy out into the parking lot where she called her father, leaving him a voice message while Amy drove through the streets. Carefully, she noticed, not like the night before, and she found herself gripping the seatbelt less, enjoying the scenery as they made their way through streets and into the driveway of a small house tucked into the corner of a quiet neighborhood. Clara looked up at the younger trees that dotted the front lawn and she could see the old oaks that stood in the back, her heart giving a small lurch at knowing what she'd probably find back there.

And it wasn't long before they were staring up at it, sitting perfectly between the two thickest branches of the larger tree on the right side of the yard – a tree house painted blue and white, wood slightly warped in spots, cracked in others, paint faded by the elements. Clara smiled up at it as Amy handed her a glass of wine and stood at her side, neither looking to the work that sat on the back patio table.

"I go up there sometimes, spent an hour or two just looking around. Playing," Amy admitted, "All their stuff's still there, just like they left it. Scatted about, dolls posed, drawings tacked up, wilting a bit after the summer though. Some mess taking up a corner, something they'd been working on." She nodded and Clara watched her swallow a lump in her throat. "It brings me a bit of peace, knowing she had a good life, a good friend."

Clara took a sip of the wine and then sighed, "I miss her." She smiled to Amy, watching the woman nod as she continued to train her eyes on the tree. "You know me, Maddie's bedroom's tidied up proper," they laughed, "But everything's still there, and she's got all of these silly photographs they'd taken together with my Insta-Cam." Clara took a long breath and then made her own admission, "I lie in there sometimes on the weekends, have a good cry."

"They tell you all about the joys of motherhood, but no one tells you how to get on when it's over." Amy's voice was soft, almost carried away by the breeze, and she smiled down at Clara. "I know it's not easy for you either."

Nodding slowly, Clara took another long sip, already feeling somewhat lightheaded on an empty stomach, and she leaned into her friend, nudging her gently before wrapping an arm around her, "She asks about her sometimes, in the dreams. She giggles and looks around and says she can feel her nearby. Maybe there's some truth to that; maybe in some small way they're still together, helping each other out."

Laughing, Amy swung an arm around Clara's shoulder and turned her towards the house, sighing, "Now that is a comforting thought."

They moved into the house and through to the kitchen where Rory was staring in confusion at the oven, mitts on hands that were planted at either side of his waist and he twisted to look at them quickly before gesturing, head cocking to the right before he told them, "It's done. _Almost_ done." He nodded and looked to it. " _Yeah_ , few more minutes should do it."

Amy shifted away from Clara and walked into the living room, where she followed, hearing the other woman whisper, "He's so gonna burn it."

Clara whispered back, "We should order something."

Lifting the phone from her back pocket, Amy admitted, "Done."

They ate take away Chinese and Clara found herself sunk into their couch, eyes drifting shut, head tilting to the right and she straightened herself, looking to Amy, who was giving her a sympathetic smile as Rory droned on about the patients in the ER he'd had to handle. "One bloke, somehow managed to get a phone jammed up his..."

"Ok!" Amy interrupted, eyes widening as Clara laughed. The woman reached out with a toe and tapped Clara's ankle, telling her through a bite of food, "Your turn – story time. Something less _that_ and more intriguing in a way I won't lose my dinner."

On a laugh, hand coming up to touch her finger to her nose, Clara nodded and swallowed her food, pulling herself to sit up straighter in the couch, even though it lifted her feet off the ground to dangle awkwardly. She sniffled and then told them, "There's a man, company representative from the Institute who keeps coming into the dream world with me and Maddie; find it curious as it's not happened before two nights ago – did they ever tell you something like that could happen?"

Amy and Rory stared a moment, then shared a look and a set of shrugs and odd sounds – the communication, Clara knew, of a couple who'd been together for ten years – before Rory offered, "They did tell us certain circumstances could prompt a representative to check vitals a bit further than just on their screens, but someone dropping into the dream itself, I've never heard of it."

Eyes narrowing, Amy prompted, "Are you sure you didn't make him up?" She smiled then, mischievously, and Clara laughed.

Shaking her head, she told her as boldly as she could in her exhausted state, "No, I'm not making him up! I've got a very real voice mail giving him an agent number and everything."

"He left you a voice mail?" Rory questioned.

Clara frowned, telling him quickly, "No, it was some angry Scottish bloke from the Institute," Amy pumped a fist, "But he's more of a chipper fellow in the dream. Londonite, bit quirky if you ask me."

Shifting forward, Amy stated, "Define quirky."

"Thin as a rail, sickly looking really, and tall – _ridiculously_ tall."

Rory snorted, "Amy, she's made you a proper match."

"I didn't make him up," Clara argued before she gestured at her neck, "He wears a bow tie."

Head bobbing, Amy offered, "Sure you didn't make him up?"

"I told you," she cried in feigned exasperation, "I didn't make him up – he showed up two nights ago, said there was a medical issue he had to verify and then last night Maddie started to turn the dream into a nightmare and I guess that set him off again..."

"Wait," Amy's hand came up, "Medical issue?" She questioned seriously before asking, "Is everything alright – you and Maddie, are you alright?"

Clara looked to the way Rory was watching her, worry lining his features, and she wondered what the thought behind that look meant. Turning away from him, she took a breath, and explained, "Fine, I just got a bit upset the first night." Her head tilted, "That's the strange bit – I've been upset in the dream before; Maddie or I have turned it to nightmares dozens of times over the past year and the most that's happened is a disconnect and a ring to assure everything was fine."

"So why'd the bow tie man show up," Rory stated for her. His hands came up and he offered, "Maybe he's new, eager to please. Doesn't realize there's a more laissez faire protocol in place when it comes to the dreams." He shrugged, "Maybe he'll be reprimanded shortly and you'll never seen him again."

Clara frowned.

"Oh," Amy laughed, "Oh, that's just _brilliant_."

"What?" Rory shot, genuinely perplexed.

Pointing, Amy said plainly, "She _wants_ to see him again."

Clara narrowed her eyes and pointed back, "I'm curious is all." She shrugged, squirming a bit at the two now watching her as they continued to absently push noodles into their mouths, waiting. As though she were some main act to go along with their meal. Clara turned away from them and breathed, "He's curious is all."

"Bet he's hot," Amy offered, and Clara heard Rory groan.

Smiling, she felt her cheeks going red as she refuted quietly, "He's not hot."

"Liar," Amy teased.

Glancing back at her, she tilted her head slightly and curled her top lip, considering her memory of him as she told her, "He's cute, I suppose, for an admin type in a bow tie."

Rory nodded, and asked, "So what does he do, when he shows up in the dreams?"

Her smile shifted, calmed, and she looked to the ground to tell them, "He just checks on us."

"Like your vitals?" Rory questioned, shrugging when both women looked to him, "Sorry, nurse, was just curious what this _checking_ entailed."

Clara thought a moment, and then she offered with a slight wince, "I'm not entirely sure. He just says the monitors went a bit wonky and he's come in for a peek."

Amy pointed at her with chopsticks, telling her on a full mouth, "I think you should call and make sure that's standard procedure, seems a bit fishy."

Giggling, Clara replied, "I'm sure it's fine, it's only been twice."

She watched Amy look to Rory and they shared another set of gestures and looks and Clara went quiet, pushing noodles into her mouth to keep from saying anything further. Twenty minutes later she'd managed to fall asleep with her head in her palm, elbow pushed into the arm of the couch, and Rory watched Amy shift her slightly, carefully, to lay her sideways there.

He shook his head and crossed his arms. "I think you should wake her," he told her sternly.

Amy shook her head and gestured, "She's exhausted, she's been exhausted for months. I wake her, she runs home and hooks herself up to that machine."

"Amy, it's her call," he reminded, beginning to clean off the coffee table.

Turning, she sighed in frustration at her husband, reminding him, "What about Maddie?" Before he could answer, she hissed, "I know, comatose, but you don't think this is doing a number on her as well – exhausting her while she's stuck in a state where she can't complain?"

Rory turned on his heel with one nod and he left, feet lightly padding their way to the kitchen with their take away containers as Amy pulled a throw from a basket next to the couch to toss over Clara. She bent slightly, brushing a hand over the woman's head before closing her eyes and taking a breath and walking away.


	5. Chapter 5

Clara stood on the edge of a desert and stared out at the sandy landscape with narrowed eyes, breath burning in her throat, arms wrapped around herself, confused. There was a part of her that understood she was dreaming, but it didn't feel the same as it usually did, and she knew when she woke this would probably make sense in some strange way – if she thought long enough about it. That's how dreams worked, she knew, but whilst you were in them, they just seemed like an utterly bizarre version of reality.

The wind pelted her with grains of sand and she could feel her skin beginning to burn from the sunlight beating down on her seemingly harsher and hotter the longer she stood in place, trying to work out what she was doing there; trying to work out the dream. Clara was trying to remember getting to that desert from the Pond's and she was trying to remember where she'd been going, so she stood still, waiting for that bit of her brain to blink back to life.

"I'm dreaming," she whispered to herself as an acknowledgement that nothing would make sense for the moment, and she watched the words pound out through the dunes, blasting the sand off their tops and sending them spiraling away.

Turning, she looked behind her and she felt her heart beginning to drum because it seemed to go on for miles and miles in every direction. The sand dunes waved like water in the distance and the wind whistled in her ears, tossing her hair about her face as she began to move in one direction before turning to move in another. She had no idea where to go, and she was alone.

"Doctor!"

It was somehow instinctual in her dream to call out to him. Probably, she'd know later, because of the conversation with Amy and Rory, but in that moment, in that state of unconsciousness, the streams of thought flowing through her mind in zigzags of nonsense, it just made sense – he would help her. Wasn't that his job?

"Doctor!" Clara inched towards her left and then turned and began walking, body twisting slightly against the spray of sand scalding her exposed skin. Of course she'd be in a pair of khaki shorts and a thin tank top.

The ground shifted underneath her and she stopped, looking to her feet, now buried in swirling sand that lapped at her ankles. Her breathing became erratic and she coughed against the foreign saltiness assaulting her nose and tongue. Clara closed her mouth and raised a hand to it to shield herself as best she could, but it seemed to flow through it, diving straight into her. Choking her.

"Mummy! The sand's got me!"

Head whipping up, she saw Maddie a few feet away. The girl wore her hospital gown, the pale blue one covered in tiny kittens Clara liked the best, and she had her arms wrapped around herself, her body bent in Clara's direction, one set of her tiny fingers beginning to reach up for her. "Hold on," she shouted back.

Tugging on her right leg, she lifted her foot from the sandy slop beneath her and then plunged it back into the sand ahead of her with a grunt. The weight of it seemed to tear at her muscles and she cried out as she took a second step, hearing her daughter beginning to whimper. It echoed through the dunes and chilled her heart and Clara struggled, but took several steps closer to her, her thighs on fire from the effort.

"Clara, she's not really there," came a voice at her side.

It was the Doctor, but it wasn't. She wasn't sure why she thought it, she knew – looking up into the old face that stared back solemnly at her – that it wasn't the same man. His voice was the voice on the answering machine, but there was a softness to it that hadn't been there before... like the Doctor in her dreams. She shook her head and looked over his bushy brows and his steely eyes and the lines that seemed to exist more from worry than age.

"She's there, she's right there," she pointed, but when she lifted her head, her daughter was gone. Head ripping around, she surveyed the desert and felt her chest constricting tightly as her eyes watered and when she turned to the Doctor again, she asked, "Where did she go?"

But he was gone as well.

Eyes snapping open, Clara looked out across the coffee table in the darkness and she gasped, slowly bringing herself to sit up with a wince at the pounding in her head. It seemed to be in rhythm with the overworked organ in her chest and she settled a palm to each, taking several long breaths to try and calm herself. It was just a nightmare, she told herself on a long inhale. Just a nightmare, she repeated on the exhale. And then she jerked slightly and glanced around, realizing she was still at the Pond's place.

"No," she muttered, flipping the throw off of her and standing, grabbing for her mobile on the table and hitting the auto-cab function that chimed a moment later to show a cab was on its way to her destination.

She heard steps coming as she gathered her belongings and pushed her feet into her shoes, glancing up to find Rory standing at the entrance to the living room with a tired frown on his face. "I'm sorry, Clara," he told her honestly. "Amy," he gestured back, "You know how she is..."

Trying to smile, she nodded and interrupted, "Thinks she knows what's best; thinks I need real sleep, not plugged into the machine." She took a step towards him, "Thinks Maddie does as well."

He was nodding slowly and she could see the disagreement in his eyes, knew his mind was working it over again for the millionth time because Rory was like her, and he had the same moral dilemmas of his heart and mind being in different places, understanding different things. Clara knew he'd had trouble sleeping knowing they'd let _her_ fall asleep, because his heart understood her plight in a way Amy refused to let hers. Amy wanted to move on and she wanted Clara to do the same; she thought it was the healthier option, while Rory knew how hard that actually was with her daughter still lying in a bed – asleep, but very much _alive_.

Rory walked towards her and he grabbed her bag of schoolwork off the ground, handing it to her with a gentle, "I'll wait outside with you, for the cab." He gestured at the mobile she had gripped tightly in her right hand and she smiled up at him, watching the way his lips twisted awkwardly into his own grin. A shy grin. The same grin he'd given her the moment they met that made her think automatically – _I'm going to like him_.

"I don't blame her," Clara sighed as they stepped onto the front porch. She nodded and explained, "If she asks, when you get back inside – I'm not upset and I don't blame her."

He shrugged, telling her honestly, "She's worried about you."

"Seems everyone is," Clara chuckled.

Rory looked out at the foggy street and he sighed, "You were muttering in your sleep, sounded like you were having a nightmare." He turned, "Does that happen often when you're not... _plugged in_?"

"See," Clara pointed, "Everyone."

He laughed lightly and it puffed away from his mouth in a stream of smoke before he bowed his head. Clara bowed her own in quiet response and she sighed when he put his arm around her shoulders, fingers gripping firmly to pull her into a half hug and she closed her eyes when his lips touched the top of her head, pressing a quick kiss into her hair before they both lifted their gaze to the car approaching slowly. Looking up to the man at her side, Clara nodded as she took a step way.

"Amy's lucky," she told him quietly, smirking when he blushed. Clara took her work bag and she held tightly to her purse, beginning to walk down the front steps and along the path to the waiting cab where a tired old man waited. She turned and assured Rory, "Please tell her I'm not mad; I need her to know that."

He nodded and he offered a peculiar smile that gave her pause, and then he repeated, more to himself than for Clara's benefit, "Amy's lucky."

Swinging back around, she opened the back door behind the driver and dropped into the seat with a shiver – she certainly wasn't dressed for being out at two in the morning on a chilly night – and she quickly gave him the address, tilting her head to rest it against the glass. She watched the houses give way to small businesses and then finally to buildings she found sadly familiar until she was parked just outside of the hospital, handing the man up front her card for payment.

Heels clicking lightly, she made her way to the lift and then into the comatose ward and finally to Maddie's room where she pushed in with a smile, seeing her little girl lying there, just as she always had. But by her side she found her father, slumped in a chair, eyes reddened as they rose to greet her with a sigh of relief just before he stood and quickly rounded the bed, pulling Clara into a rough hug as he cried softly.

"Dad," she groaned awkwardly, both hands occupied with bags, but trying to encircle him to pat him.

"Where've you been, Clara?" He hissed, finally moving away, hands holding to her shoulders, massaging at them lightly as he looked over her face, some strange worry there that frightened her.

She gave him a half-smile and glanced sideways, telling him, "I left you a message, told you I went to have dinner with Amy and Rory – thought you'd be..." he turned away and exhaled and Clara demanded, "What's wrong?"

"Musta left the message on the wrong number," he shook his head, eyes closing, "I've called you a hundred times – why didn't you pick up?"

She lifted the mobile in her hand, looking to it before clicking it on and realizing, "On silent."

Her father took a step away and reached to grab the frame at the foot of the bed, pointing back at her to tell her sternly, "You can't... _you can't do that to me_ , Clara."

She laughed, setting her things down on a couch in the corner to turn and watch the way his knuckles went white as he gripped the pale plastic edging. Head tilting, she pleaded, "Dad, honest, I thought I'd left you a message."

"Got home and went to check on you," he muttered, ignoring her. "Went up and knocked for ten minutes and thought maybe you were just late – had one of those parent nights or something at the school and you'd just forgotten to tell me." He shrugged. "Thought you'd gone out for dinner and I waited, calling up every so often just waiting." He turned to her, "Started calling your mobile at midnight, worried sick. Thought maybe you'd plugged into that machine and something'd gone wrong, but you weren't there. And then I didn't know what to think..."

Dave Oswald, Clara knew, was petrified; she could see it in his eyes just before he looked away to stare at the girl lying in the bed. He'd lost his wife long ago, he'd almost lost his only child, and his only grandchild was lying in a coma just a few feet away. Clara understood because she'd lived that same string of events and she inched closer to him, hand coming up to touch his elbow to get his attention back to her as a set of tears fell over his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, dad," she told him quietly. "I honestly thought I'd left you a message."

He was nodding, arm coming up, and Clara nestled into his side, wrapping her arms around his midsection as he clapped a hand on her shoulder, gripping her firmly, whispering, "I know, baby, I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound so... _insane_. You just gave me a fright, after everything..."

The words ended there, but Clara understood. She hadn't picked the best man and while she'd ended that relationship just after Maddie's birth, it had turned into four years of custody battles and threats and full on fights that had ended with her in a ditch and that man gone from her life. Clara's hold on her father tightened as she looked to her daughter – she'd tried her best, but sometimes life had other plans.

"How was dinner?" Dave asked her softly.

She smiled, nodding into him, "It was good. It's been too long."

"How are they doing?" The question came with hesitation and Clara knew – he feared the other woman would blame Clara for her daughter's death; Clara still feared the same.

Clara inched away slowly, and she responded on a shrug, "Good, I guess."

"Rory still a nurse?" He snorted and Clara backhanded him lightly in the chest as he teased, "I just thought he'd had aspirations to become a doctor one day."

Shaking her head, Clara rounded the bed and looked at her child, responding, "No, Rory likes being a nurse; he says he helps more people being a nurse than he ever would as a doctor."

Dave was nodding at the space in front of him, Clara could see out of the corner of her eye as she bent to kiss Maddie's forehead, looking to the machine at her side as her father said, "He's a smart one, that Rory – you should find yourself a bloke like him." Hands flapping up slightly, he added, "Or a girl, whatever it is that makes you happy these days."

Turning with a laugh, Clara groaned, "Dad," and then pulled herself up onto the bed to sit beside Maddie, picking her small hand up to kiss and hold in her lap as she sighed. "She's so beautiful," Clara breathed. "It takes my breath away every time I see her."

"'Cause she takes after her mum," her father told her immediately.

Bowing her head bashfully, Clara looked over the round pale cheeks before she reached out with her right hand to cup the girl's face, thumb stroking where her inherited dimple would sit when she smiled. _Smile_ , she thought as her lower lip trembled. Clara sniffed harshly and she bent to kiss the girl's lips lightly, then her tiny upturned nose, and then her forehead again before touching her own to it.

"I'm so sorry I missed our time tonight, sweet pea," she whispered. "Mummy is _very_ tired."

Her throat closed against the words and she carefully turned to lie next to the girl, arm snaking underneath her neck to pull her closer and kiss her temple, hating that she inhaled the scent of a hospital and its anti-bacterials and not the smell of her child. Clara closed her eyes, feeling them drop heavy tears into Maddie's hair and she felt her father at her side, giving her left shoulder a squeeze to let her know it was alright.

It was alright to mourn.

It was alright to be angry.

It was alright to miss a night here and there.

Clara swallowed the lump in her throat and she shook her head because to her it wasn't. Her daughter was still there and as long as she was, she would always hold onto that small chance she might wake up and so long as there was that chance, Clara wouldn't let herself be angry. Her daughter needed her strong, not angry. And nothing should keep her from their time together. Not her life or her students or her exhaustion. She shook her head and she felt her body trembling with the need to sob and with one more squeeze of her shoulder and a quiet, " _Go on, Clara_ ," from her father, she did.


	6. Chapter 6

"You should really get some rest."

The Doctor's voice startled her out of a daydream within a dream, and she immediately glanced around, finding her daughter flying a kite in the field a few feet away, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration at the orange and red object up in the cloudy sky. The little girl was in a green dress with tiny yellow butterflies, something Clara had gotten at a charity shop and her daughter had worn almost to threads, so in love with the pattern. Maddie's bare toes were digging into the grassy space beneath her, the way she did when her mind was occupied.

Clara had been thinking about what could possibly be on her daughter's mind.

Had the nightmare two nights ago stirred something in her, or had she felt her absence the night before? Maddie had been quiet tonight, barely spoken a word to her before imagining up a kite to fly. To hand the kite end to Clara and then take several steps away from her mother before breaking into a run to lift the object out of her mother's delicate grasp and up into the air.

Was she now pondering the idea that it was a dream, and if it were a dream, when would she wake up? Did she understand that she wasn't waking up? Did she wonder why she never went to school, or never saw any of her friends, or never went to see her Grandad? Clara had never thought to ask her if anything seemed wrong with their nightly dreamscapes. The idea seemed too preposterous.

"She's fine," the Doctor prompted.

Turning to size him up again, thinking about Amy's assertion that she fancied him – same old brown slacks, same grey vest, same dull white shirt, same silly bowtie, same flop of dark hair hanging sloppily over his eyes as before – Clara smiled, knowing Amy was right, and she asked, "What are you doing here?"

He immediately plucked a tablet out of thin air and twisted it towards her, gesturing at the lines and numbers on the screen she could only imagine were her own vitals, or Maddie's, and he told her softly, "Your heart rate, it should be steady, because of the medication you take to induce this dream state, but it's not. It fluctuates rather rapidly on a simply, yet complex thought." He bowed his head slightly and then repeated, "You should really get some rest."

Clara turned and questioned, "Does Maddie's?"

"Does Maddie's what?" the Doctor responded quietly.

"Her heart rate," Clara stated before asking firmly, "Is her heart rate ok?"

Swiping the screen, the Doctor told her honestly, "Yes, her heart rate is fine."

"Then don't worry about mine," Clara grunted, but she didn't move. She took a long breath and closed her eyes, immediately telling him, "I'm sorry, I know you're only here to help."

She could feel him shifting closer to her and she looked out at Maddie, who offered the Doctor a wave that she could see him returning, and then he sighed. For a moment she didn't question it, she imagined he missed his own child and seeing hers gave him an odd sort of comfort, but then she turned to look at him and she found him staring down at her with an obvious concern in his light eyes. And he blushed, smirking, but not turning away from being caught.

"How did you know about my medication?" She asked simply, "It's not something I told them."

His smirk grew and he looked away then, telling her honestly, "Your heart rate."

"What about it?"

"I looked into your history with the DeepDream Institute, part of my evaluation to assess the best course of action, obviously," he explained to her curious stare. "The first month, there were a few disconnections due to elevated pulse, but then you seemed to reach a plateau for quite some time. The past ten months your heart rate has rarely fluctuated, but in the past few weeks, it's increased in anomalies – side effect of becoming accustomed to whatever you're taking. I see it happen all the time, it's why we don't recommend the use of sleep aids, gives a false sense of security as it does tend to lose its potency." He shrugged, "Either that, or you've become more agitated, which is still of concern to me."

Nodding slowly, Clara looked to Maddie, who smiled up at her kite and she sighed, "Look at her."

"Ms. Oswald..." the Doctor began softly.

But Clara gestured, "Just look at her." He waited in silence at her side and Clara glanced up to see him watching the girl again, that sad smile on his lips, and then she told him, "How do I give this up?"

"No one's asking you to give this up," he told her quietly before adding, "Or give up on her." Clara turned to look at him now, curious, and he nodded, "I know that's how you're feeling – I'm not the first person to tell you to take a break from these dreams and you think the advice is, in the end, to give up on Maddie."

Shaking her head, she frowned and managed, "Doesn't it go against your job description to tell me to stop using your product?"

He laughed and she glanced up to see his head tilted back, his mouth agape, eyes lost to the amusement of her statement, and for a moment she hated herself for finding that attractive, because she could hear Amy teasing her about it, somewhere in the back of her mind, and then he reminded, "You're on a monthly, it's really of no consequence – monetarily speaking – if you take a few nights off."

Eyes narrowing slightly, looking away from him, she asked, "Does it do harm? To be plugged in so often?"

On a shrug, he responded, "I could give you the DeepDream Institute's standard speech on how we've gone through rigorous testing over the years. How there aren't any long term consequences to nightly use aside from occasional drowsiness. And it would all be true, there's no lie in the product packaging." He shrugged again awkwardly to continue, "It's not the product that could do the damage, as the makers of many products out there can attest, it's generally the user's misuse."

"I could be a danger to myself," she glanced sideways at her daughter, "To Maddie."

The Doctor's hands came up, fingers curled, as though palpating an invisible ball as he told her, "The mind is an interesting thing – I've done plenty of research on my own for this job – and my experience is that if you overwork it too long, it can take its toll on the human being attached to it." He nodded. "Understand my meaning?"

Clara pinched her lips together and gave him a small bob of her head as acknowledgement before admitting, "I did my own research." She bowed her head to exhale. "These aren't ordinary dreams, the random firing of synapses in the mind. They're managed, in a sense, utilizing a portion of actual brain functionality that's generally dormant in dreams. That's why they aren't generally nonsensical – we have a measure of control over them and their directionality." Clara looked to him and stated, "I know I'm half awake, really, and not entirely sleeping."

"Not entirely resting," he added.

They shared a smile and she looked to Maddie, "Is she?"

"In her current medical state? No, not technically awake, but it is exerting a strain on her mind, just as it's working yours."

"Isn't that good," Clara questioned softly, explaining, "For her, I mean. She's not completely vegetative if she can experience these dreams with me; she's not..." she trailed and she heard him inhale, her eyes closing because she knew he was going to say the word she refused to say.

And he said, as gently as he could, "Gone."

Clara let out a breath and he looked to his tablet again, which had suddenly appeared, informing her calmly, "Heart rate elevating."

She smiled, feeling her eyes burning with unshed tears as she looked to him and said, "I just want her to wake up and be my little girl again and if this is what I can get in the mean time, I'll take it. If this is all I ever get, watching her grow up in a dream world, I'll take it. And I'll take all of the exhaustion that comes with it because she's worth that and so much more."

Her words trailed, watching the way he simply nodded, mulling over her statement; thinking, she knew, to his own lost child. Clara looked to Maddie, watching her smile as she felt the Doctor's eyes on her a moment, and she heard him inhale slowly at her side.

"Do you want my recommendation?" The Doctor spoke quietly and she looked to him, seeing him bending forward slightly, hands clasped behind his back; tablet now nowhere to be seen. It would be undocumented advice, she understood by the sad smile he wore.

Head tilting as she squinted against the sunlight, Clara offered lightly, "I suppose you'll offer it anyways," and she laughed timidly, giving a nod and a silent, "Go on."

The Doctor looked back out to Maddie and he took a long breath – some thought he wouldn't share rolling around in that awkward head of his – before he breathed, "Don't give up on your daughter – ever, no matter what anyone tells you." He looked to her, "But don't forget to keep living."

"Is that what happened to you, Doctor?" She asked, "After your wife and child?"

His face went blank a moment, and his body straightened, going rigid in a way she hadn't seen before and she watched him stare out at the kite in the sky for long enough that she thought he might never answer. Until he told her simply and honestly, "Yes."

She nodded slowly, and looked to him and the way he bowed his head, almost ashamed, and she questioned, "Which part? Giving up, or forgetting to live."

"Oh," he sighed, "There was nothing to give up on – they were simply gone." He smiled up at her, a sad smile she was growing used to seeing, and he raised a hand absently, letting it drop against his thigh as he told her, "But after the mourning that should have ended, I forgot to live." He shrugged. "I secluded myself in my flat. Only came out to work," he grumbled as he shook his head, "Ignored all my friends, shunned the only family I had until I was standing over their graves as well, wondering just where the time had gone."

"You speak as though you're much older than you appear," she teased, trying to coax another grin out of him, and he offered it willingly, looking her over in an oddly adoring way. One that tinged her cheeks pink and settled a tablet out of thin air on his lap that he looked to sheepishly as she turned away a moment, glancing back to find him smiling knowingly at her.

"Perhaps I am older than I appear," he responded lightly. "Thousands of years old, wandering the dream world in search of someone special."

Clara inched back, lips puckering before she warned, "Careful, Doctor, or I might say you're becoming flirtatious – something I dare say is against company policy."

He scoffed, hand waving as his eyes closed and his head shifted away a moment before he landed a playful stare back at her and supplied, "I'm never flirtatious, it goes against my better nature."

Laughing lightly, Clara glanced up when Maddie giggled wildly, and she smiled because somehow the girl had managed to turn the orange and red kite into a phoenix, fluttering about in figure eight's in the sky. She considered the man at her side, feeling his eyes on her again before they shifted to watch Maddie, who was now gesturing up at the bird between clapping her hands and shouting at them to look. Was he being flirtatious? Was he crossing some line? And did she mind.

She supposed that was the most important question.

One to which the answer would be – _she didn't_.

His presence was somehow soothing, there just a few inches from her. His warmth made her feel less alone and his laugh – his gruff cough of a laugh – made her feel happy. Happy she could share this with someone whose only intentions towards her and her daughter were to protect them from harm. Clara felt her heart skip at the thought because she'd never realized she'd spent so much time worried about the welfare of her child. She never understood the weight that had settled on her shoulders and when she looked to the Doctor, she found him smiling at her.

The tablet sat in his lap again, ignored, and he nodded to her, explaining softly, "Even if I wanted to be flirtatious, I doubt I could ever hold a candle to the light that little girl shines in your eyes."

Clara watched the tablet blink to life and she laughed, gesturing at his lap, "It's not fair, you know, you've got that thing to know when your moves are working."

For a moment his eye went wide and he glanced down quickly, offering the tablet the tiniest of smiles as he understood and she laughed at him openly then, as he stammered, "Tablet's very useful, yes."

He didn't move it, she noticed. Didn't touch it, and when it suddenly disappeared with the stabilization of her heart rate, he shifted to bring his knees up, rounding his arms over them as he blushed and watched Maddie. Clara chuckled to herself, her own cheeks going warm at the notion that she might have stirred something in his libido, and then she sighed as she looked to the way he grinned at Maddie. A child not his own and yet he held a sort of fatherly pride as the girl commanded the phoenix in the sky, eventually coaxing it down for a hug before she set it free to fly off into the bright sky.

Clara tilted her head back, telling the Doctor gently, "The sky is bluer when you're here, is that your doing?"

She expected a laugh, and instead she found curious eyes staring back at her. Clara was tempted to laugh, knowing the confusion in his eyes meant that no, it wasn't, but it was also a dream world, so it was caused by someone. For a moment she considered Maddie, giggling a few feet away, and then she watched the way the Doctor was beginning to turn away, as though maybe he knew the answer, and she realized it was her.

Her child had no reason to turn the skies grey; her child was merely a child, happily prancing about in a dream world of their joined creation with no understanding of what was going on in the outside world. So the gloom that had hung over almost every dream they'd shared in the past year had been because of Clara's sadness, something she couldn't let go of, even in that shared state. The blue skies came Clara was happy.

Because of him.

She offered a small inhale, hand reaching out to touch his shoulder as she nodded, meeting his glance to tell him quietly, "I'd like to meet you," she nodded again, adding, "The real you."

His chuckle was nervous and his voice cracked as he responded lightly, "That's probably not a very good idea, Ms. Oswald."

"Please," she urged, "Call me Clara."

The Doctor gave her a calm smile and his eyes closed momentarily as her grip on his arm solidified, and he re-stated gently, "Clara, it's not a good idea."

She laughed, "Why not?" She gave his arm a rub, one he leaned into briefly before straightening as she giggled and told him, "I'd like to thank you properly, in person, for what you've done for us – for caring as much as you do, I know you don't need to be here."

"You can thank me here," he told her quickly, eyes popping open as he smiled, then turned to look at Maddie, shrieking happily nearby.

Inching forward swiftly, Clara had meant to kiss the Doctor's cheek. She'd meant to press her lips firmly enough to his skin that he might carry that memory into his waking consciousness because she knew how hard it was. But he turned and she found herself crushing her lips against his, their noses oddly complementing one another – her upturned and his flat and broad – and for whatever reason, Clara didn't immediately back away. And, she realized, neither had he. She tilted her head slightly and she chanced to deepen that kiss, feeling her heart pounding in her chest, knowing that damned tablet would be weighing on his lap heavily now, but his hands were in her hair instead, holding her steady as he returned her affection.

It was dizzying and they inhaled together, tongues working along one another, trying – she knew – to capture the feel of the other before the waking world filtered it away. And then Maddie gasped and shouted, "Ew! Mummy!"

They shifted away from each other quickly, breathing heavily into the warm air around them and Clara managed a single laugh, eyes closing as she bowed her head. She could hear another small gasp from her child and she knew she had to apologize to the man at her side, but when she turned to look at him, he was gone.

"Mummy," Maddie called out, the phoenix also disappearing from sight as she made her way over asking in a hushed voice, "Where did the Doctor go?"

Shaking her head, Clara stood and accepted the small hug from her child, heart pounding as she responded quietly, "I don't know, sweet pea."


	7. Chapter 7

He woke with a strangled gasp, hands coming up to tug the nodules from either side of his head before plucking the one off his chest roughly and cringing as it pulled a single strand of hair with it. Falling back, he took several long breaths before he felt the fingers that wrapped around his shoulder and he looked up into the bright eyes of his colleague. He might be proud of him, he knew; Jack Harkness would shake his hand and ask for details and he grimaced against the thought, trying to catch his breath as he lay in the chair he spent each night in.

"Careful, old man," Jack offered, "You could get fired for that sort of display – they might think that ol' ticker of yours couldn't take it anymore with the rest of us plugs."

Frowning, he looked to the man who stood beside him, smug grin on his handsomely youthful face. Waving a hand, he urged Jack out of his way as he stood and moved out of his darkened office and towards a restroom, shaky fingers working to push the top buttons of his crisp white shirt back into place, fingers smoothing the empty spot between the lapels.

Bow tie, he thought to himself with a groan; she liked the stupid bow tie.

"John," Jack called, moving sluggishly after him, "John," he repeated in a hushed voice as he pushed into the men's room and he bent himself over a sink to splash his face with cold water. "What... _happened_?"

The voice just behind him was no longer playful, but genuinely concerned, and he might have answered, but he was too busy finding the courage to lift his eyes to his reflection in the mirror. To remind himself of who he really was. Underneath the harsh lights sat a wild stare. Eyes too bright under brows too bushy; face too pale and worn and lined for the woman and child he'd spend the last few nights caring for. He rubbed his hands up over his features and ran his bony fingers through his greying waves of thick hair, standing it on end before turning swiftly to look to Jack and close his eyes.

"Have you ever fancied a client in a way you maybe shouldn't have?" He spat gruffly.

"Have I gotten a boner off a hot chick in the dream state," Jack supplied on a chuckle, "Yeah, John, it's pretty par for the course – loads of hot ladies..." his words trailed, "John, did you get," he laughed aloud and John turned away as the other man whistled, before his hands clamped onto his shoulders and he gasped, "Who was she, what's her file, I need to see this woman."

Shoulders shrugging until Jack released him, John rubbed angrily at the stirrings of his erection as he moved away, tugging at several paper towels to dry his face before pushing back out into the cooler air of the office building. They were seventeen stories up, he knew, and the entire building housed men and women who spent their nights plugged into machines, physically or simply sitting at stations in front of screens monitoring the dreams of others. Not watching, he knew, simply overseeing and adjusting here and there, creating notes about heart rates and connection and disconnection times, durations, activities.

He groaned as he reached his work station, looking to the sweat that still dotted that chair, knowing it had seeped through the white of his shirt. And then he turned when he heard Jack press into the doorway and his eyes landed on the name plate that sat just beside the man's elbow. He frowned and looked away, hand coming up to rub at his forehead as he listened to the other man's chuckle.

John Smith.

Just plain old John Smith, he reminded himself. Not this character he'd dreamed up for customers. The youthful man with the polite face they would happily speak to. Not the idiot with the bow tie, he scoffed at himself, bowing his head and reaching for a tissue from his desk to wipe down that seat. Just plain old John Smith, widowed man who lived on bare minimum and rarely stepped a toe out of line from his safe routine.

His hands worked vicious circles, listening to Jack rambling behind him about the client he'd just left. A sad man who created a world of naked dancers, apparently. John wasn't listening. He was focused on the hand that slowed to a stop in the midst of making a rough turn against the black leather before him. With a sigh, he looked over the lines of his wrinkles, the green winding roads his veins carved through them, the spot here or there that made him clench his teeth and close his eyes.

"She wants to thank me for helping her," he spat roughly, stopping Jack in mid-sentence about legs and thighs and how people never quite understood the dream world would never be an appropriate substitute for real flesh held within your hands. John turned to look at Jack's blank stare, and he coughed, "She wants to meet me to thank me."

Stepping into the room, Jack pressed one hand into his waist and the other tickled at the black hair on his head before it fell away and he shrugged, demeanor shifting from his normal casual amused-with-the-world stance to a sudden genuine concern as he stated, "So arrange a meeting – it's not really that uncommon, it's good PR, it's good customer service..."

"She can't see me like this," John shouted, earning himself a shushing and a raising of Jack's hands as the other man's eyes darted towards the frosted glass walls. They were monitored, they both knew, and an outburst might bring unwanted attention. He took a long breath as Jack massaged at his arms, and then he looked to his friend and muttered, "She can't see this old face looking back at her."

Lips pinching together as his head tilted slightly, Jack looked him dead in the eye and then sighed, "Let's take a walk."

And John understood, as they collected their coats and clocked out at their stations for a 'lunch' break – grabbing their bags along the way – it wasn't a conversation for the ears of their superiors. It wasn't a conversation for the ears of anyone in the building one didn't trust. For personal reasons as well as professional, John knew, and he shivered even before they made their way out through the spinning glass doors onto the frigid empty streets.

At nearing one in the morning there were few pedestrians out, and nary a car in sight. The silence was overwhelming to John as they both pulled their coats tighter, pushing buttons through loops and grimacing against the breeze as they made their way to a small park around the corner. It was the only one well lit enough to trust being alone in, and though the cold of a fall night left something to be desired, John welcomed the distraction. His body had been on fire when he stood and walked away from his station; that imaginary kiss too much for him to handle.

Why, he thought, climbing onto a bench and dropping heavily against the wood, why had she done it?

Why, he considered angrily, had he kissed her back?

He knew the answer, of course. She was an attractive woman and as much as anyone claimed that flesh to flesh contact in the dream world just didn't compare to the real world, John knew how much it could. How much it could pull from memories and from expectations to create a reality that implanted itself into memories that were as real as anything in the world outside of their heads. He dug into his bag and pulled out a stale sandwich, taking a large bite and chewing rapidly as Jack settled into the seat across from him, more patient, even in the blistering cold.

"I don't understand why you don't just show up as yourself," Jack told him with a shrug. "You're a nice enough fellow."

John leveled an angry stare at him.

"I mean, sometimes," Jack corrected before taking a bite of his own sandwich. "But see this," he pointed, "This is what you avoid just being yourself."

"I show up," he barked, "An old man in some young woman's dreams, and never mind that my intentions are purely professional – she calls up the Institute the next morning complaining that some pervert was sneaking peeks into her mind." His eyebrows rose as he pointed back at Jack, "And you know it."

Nodding and chewing, Jack considered it, and then replied softly, "But you show up as these made up characters and complain when you connect and they want to meet you – you know, you must set some record for the amount of clients who want to have a face-to-face meeting with you," he cocked his head and asked, "What does this dream persona of yours look like?"

Eyes closing as he sighed in frustration, John shook his head and then spat, "It's not what he looks like, he's an awkward looking fellow – young and foolish, idiotic really."

"Well," Jack groaned, "I suppose it's your winning personality they're falling for."

John dropped the half of his sandwich that was left back on his bag and looked to the darkness of the skies, wishing for the millionth time that he could simply sail away into them, and then he let out a long breath he watched trail away into that darkness. He looked back to John and saw that he was waiting, and that he was waiting without the regular twinkle of amusement in his eyes, and he considered it before shrugging.

"Everything is different in dreams," John told him plainly.

"Different," Jack repeated, head bowing and looking away as he took another bite. "I don't understand you sometimes, John – putting on these roles, engaging face to face, you do know that's not really standard procedure. Interaction is supposed to be a last resort."

Nodding slowly, he pushed the rest of his sandwich into his bag, his stomach already turning with the contents he'd given it and the adrenaline left from Ms. Oswald's unexpected affections. He thought about it, about why he kept his job, even at his age, while younger men failed and he smiled up at Jack with a sort of understanding. There was no way to explain that it was precisely his age that gained him so much attention. Not the number, but the life that came with it. There were things he'd experienced that few younger understood. Jack, he knew, had known loss and he'd known tragedy in his short life – the man had lost a husband far too soon and that gave him an edge neither wanted to admit they had.

Many of the people who came to DeepDream Institute came for a good time, and some came for therapy, but they all needed help. Some admitted it; some didn't, but everyone was looking for some sort of escape and most representatives were more than happy to allow them that escape and never step in except to make a slight adjustment from just outside of that dream state. John knew it wasn't standard to step inside with his concocted avatar, but he also knew it was necessary in some cases – in the most important cases.

Like Clara and Madeline Oswald.

He raised his fingers, curling them over nothing in the cold air before inching back to tell Jack, "Everyone wants to help these people from an arm's distance. Everyone who works here understands why these people come, it's in their files or in their dreams, but we hold them away from ourselves because we think we're better." He brought his hands together, folding them tightly and laying his arms down on the table before leaning forward, "We look down on them when we're here for the very same reasons."

"We're here for a job," Jack pointed, "For money."

Laughing, John replied, "And we could take any job, but we choose one that allows us to stand in judgment over others – why do you think that is?"

"You think we have ego monsters?" Jack laughed, furrowing his brow to continue, "We stand guard over these dreams, John, we don't judge – it's not in our handbook."

"You know as well as I that what's written in the handbook and what comes to pass aren't necessarily in line with one another," John spat.

Nodding, the other man gestured towards him and supplied slowly, "Yeah, like you going in and befriending half your clients and then getting frustrated when they want to meet you in person to thank you." He sighed, "What happened in that dream?"

His cheeks burned at the thought before he finally admitted, "She went to kiss my cheek and the lips landed elsewhere."

Jack's mouth fell open slightly and John could see the grin there as he asked, "Else where?"

"On the lips, obviously," he spat.

Shrugging, Jack offered, "It is a dream, you never know where lips can land."

"You're disgusting," he replied curtly, lips curling angrily.

Jack merely laughed and shook his head, then told him calmly, "Look, it was a mistake – she kissed you, still just a thanks, and you probably worried her, leaving the dream state the way you did, as I imagine you disconnected in quite a hurry, leaving her feeling a bit... well... rejected."

Hands pressing into his temples, John groaned, he hadn't thought about it.

"Wait, did you kiss her back?" Jack asked quickly. He shifted when John glanced up, immediately questioning, "This wasn't a peck on the lips, was it." Then he laughed and breathed, "Wow."

John grabbed what was left of his sandwich and he crammed it into his bag, pushing up from the bench to begin the walk back to the building, hearing John struggling to catch up and then ignoring him when he finally fell in step beside him. The other man didn't question him any further, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that he was smirking, his head giving the occasional bob of a thought he wasn't sharing, and John knew he was immediately going to get back to his work station and try to find her.

The notion that he'd already locked her file to his profile as personal representative almost made him smile as they pushed through the glass turnstile and walked swiftly to the lift that took them back up to their floor at a dizzying speed. They moved through the hallways, occasionally glancing at men seated in their station, typing lazily and sighing with boredom, or reclined and obviously entrenched further in their customer's dream. Observing, John knew, they merely observed.

He touched the edge of his doorway and felt Jack standing just behind, curiously waiting, until he turned and nodded, telling him simply, "Thanks for the fresh air."

Jack saluted and began to walk away, turning only to tell him, "Be careful with her, John."

They exchanged a knowing nod and a shared clenching of their jaws and then Jack was in through his own door where John could easily hear the clap and waggle of his hands, excited to be back on the job. He smiled at the thought – the handsome man who flashed a devilish smile but never grew too attached. He dropped his coat on a table with his lunch bag and sat comfortably in his chair, shifting his computer closer to type in her name, to see she was still connected to Madeline and they were still available, if he wanted to re-enter.

Instead he switched to another screen of potential customers he could update. Clara's heart rate was normal, as was her daughter's – there was nothing of concern there and he didn't want to chance disrupting that time they shared again. Perhaps it was better if he didn't again, despite the ache that left in his chest. Perhaps he should assign another to her case and claim personal reasons. Too close to the subject, he would have to write. Too close to his own personal history, he would have to divulge. Not that they didn't know.

For a moment he thought to the frame on his desk just a few feet away and the old photo of a young woman and a little girl with his bright bold eyes and her mother's dark locks and smile, a nose inherited from some distant relative that thankfully replaced his long crook of a snout. He smiled, and then chuckled to himself because he could still hear her small voice calling out to him after a long day, could still hear his wife's tiny moan of appreciation when he hugged her just a bit too tightly. And just as easily, he could see Madeline giggling up at her mother, and the way that woman tucked her child's hair behind her ears before bending to smother her little girl in kisses.

John shook the vision away and he tapped on a screen name that showed elevation of all monitored levels and he reached for the nodules to replace at his temples, hesitating before unbuttoning his shirt just enough to push the last into a spot in the left side of his chest. He dropped back to lay comfortably, and closed his eyes, reminding himself that entering a dream entirely was abnormal. Telling himself he needed to stop doing it.

Observe, he scolded himself. Simply observe.


	8. Chapter 8

The alarm buzzed sharply at her side and Clara reached out to turn it off, working the nodules off herself easily and setting them down carefully over the machine at her bedside. Laying quietly in bed, listening to the honking of the stirrings of traffic in the distance outside, she stared up at the ceiling thinking about the dream she'd just left. New kites had appeared and they'd flown them over that field. Maddie had insisted on a dragon – one with bright blue and green wings and a red tail that wagged on the breezes – and Clara had chosen herself a simple square of black and white.

"You're boring, mummy," Maddie had scoffed happily, giggling up at her.

Boring, she thought to herself, wasn't exactly what she'd call herself. She'd never been the boring type, or at least she'd never thought of herself as such. Of course, she didn't get herself into trouble; she liked to keep her life organized; she liked to weigh decisions before making them. Especially after her husband... Maybe she had become a little boring, but did boring people kiss their in-dream strangers? Clara watched the sparkles of light from passing vehicles dance across the ceiling as she thought about it.

It was in her memories now, there was no denying it. She'd aimed to kiss the Doctor's cheek, oddly hoping to feel that barely there stubble graze her lips and had ended up tasting him in a way that seemed highly inappropriate and yet... she'd enjoyed it. And she'd been terrified by that. Even lying in that bed now, remembering how delicate he'd been with her, how slow and gentle and tentative, as though afraid himself. Perhaps he had been.

She smiled then, taking a long breath and bringing a set of fingers up to touch her lips. Feelings weren't the same in dreams, she'd always been told. A touch in a dream would never be the same as one in real life, they'd insisted. They were the arguments against joining the DeepDream Institute and she'd shrugged them off. She knew what her daughter's hand felt like, warmly tucked into her own. She knew the softness of her hair and the roundness of her cheeks and the weight of her in her arms.

Memories were absolutely tangible, she understood after a few months.

But this wasn't some memory, she thought as she ran a finger along her bottom lip, feeling it dry and cool underneath her fingertip. There was a buzz there, a tingle of excitement that came with his kiss that had been unlike anything she'd felt in a dream state. And she'd been distracted by it through the rest of her dream with her daughter, enough for the little girl to glance up at her sleepily, just before Clara had disconnected, to sigh and lament, "Why did you kiss that man, mummy?"

It was then that she realized Maddie had never seen her kiss a man. Not even the girl's father. She imagined the little girl would have a million questions for her about it. But she'd simply laughed then, stroking back the dark hair on the child lying in her lap, knuckles caressing warm skin, moist with a sheen of sweat, telling her honestly, "Maybe mummy likes him."

They'd giggled together just before the call of her alarm and something about that soothed her.

It'd been a year since the accident, and it'd been almost four since she'd separated from the girl's father, but she'd never truly considered moving on to a serious relationship. For a time it was trying to explain her daughter – men didn't want to raise the infant of another man; then it was the busy life of a working mother – she simply didn't have time to look, and she brushed aside the advances of those who bought her drinks at the parties of friends, or those who smiled and flirted in the school.

She tried for a time with the another teacher who specialized in maths; for time enough that her daughter brightened when she saw him at the park on weekends, jogging along as they played tea party with Maddie's dolls. Enough that she thought maybe this Danny fellow might be good for their lives. And then he'd gone, like some disconnected dream. On a frown, Clara kicked the sheets aside to cool her legs, trying not to think of that man, because she thought she might have liked him just enough, but just enough might never have been enough for either of them.

It obviously hadn't been for him, she thought angrily.

"What's your name, Doctor," she sighed curiously at the air before forcing her exhausted body out of bed to drag it towards a shower and a steaming cup of coffee and then finally to the school where she went through the motions dutifully before finally finding her way back home.

It surprised her sometimes, how a day could feel like a dream and her dreams could feel like reality. She couldn't remember what she had for breakfast, nor could she remember much of what she'd taught, nor could she recall how she'd gotten home that evening, but she could still feel the gentle breeze in the open field where her and her daughter had run along the grass with their kites. Clara could still see the way her child had squinted up at the sunny sky the same as she could remember the way it made her heart surge just thinking about the fact that the sky was sunny at all. And she could remember how she'd looked around then, waiting for that silly man to re-appear, and how saddened she'd been when he hadn't.

Perhaps she'd scared him off for good.

The thought plagued her throughout the day and she found herself dialing the number off a card she hadn't touched in quite some time. Setting it down on her dresser, she fell back to sit against her bed, feeling her heart pounding as the phone rang shrilly in her ear. And when the company answered, she paused for a moment, for long enough that the woman on the other end asked a second time, "DeepDream Institute, this is Gazelle speaking, how many I help you? Hello?"

"Hello, Hi," Clara stammered before running her hand over her forehead a moment and asking, "I was wondering what your hours were for visitors?" She held the phone tightly and listened as the woman on the other end of the line hummed a moment before sighing.

"The DeepDream Institute is open to the public twenty four hours a day, is there a particular person you wanted to meet with?" Gazelle asked cheerfully.

"Um, I don't have his name, but," Clara began, lips pressing together, "Operator 1112?"

"Is there a problem or concern with this particular operator?" The woman seemed genuine in her question and Clara laughed softly, shaking her head before closing her eyes, understanding Gazelle obviously couldn't see the gesture.

"No," she told her softly, "None at all – he's been wonderful and I just wanted to thank him."

There was a small laugh on the other end before she heard keys being punched and she was told, "Mr. Smith's hours are pretty stable, works the overnight seven to five shift daily, though I would recommend making an appointment as he's generally in-dream, so to speak."

"Mr. Smith," Clara repeated, wondering if that were his true name, or if they had fake ones they gave out, to avoid any problems in the real world. Nodding slowly, Clara asked, "How do I go about making an appointment with Mr. Smith?"

"I'll transfer you to his line," came the automatic response and before she could argue against it, the phone beeped and she was suddenly hearing the robotic automated message of a voice machine and just as it beeped for her to record a message, she pulled the phone away from her ear and jammed her right forefinger to the end-call button, staring at the darkening screen and then laughing nervously as she felt her pulse quickening as her neck burned.

And then she lifted the phone and dialed Amy, bringing it shakily back to her ear and waiting for the quick and loud, "Hello?" that came with the sound of a playful smack and a giggle. "Hello, Clara?" The second greeting made her jump on the spot she sat in at the end of her bed.

"Hi, Amy," she stated plainly, feeling awkward, fingers finding the edge of her bedding to grip.

"Rory stop it," she heard Amy's muffled call, as though through a hand, and then came the serious, "It's Clara, stop it." And then finally, "Sure, Clara, we can talk – is everything alright?"

Breath held, she thought about the question. She knew Amy would be concerned about Maddie; she knew Amy would be concerned about schooling; she knew Amy would be concerned about _Clara_. So she considered the words she was about to say carefully, understanding they seemed foolish, before she uttered, almost in a whisper as though ashamed, "I kissed him."

"Who?" Amy barked in response.

"The Doctor?" Clara whined, eyes clenching shut in embarrassment. "Mr. Smith."

"What Doctor Smith..." Amy began, voice lost to confusion before she asked quietly, "Wait, the bow tie man in your dreamscape with Maddie?" Clara didn't answer and then Amy continued softly, "Why'd you do that?"

Clara rambled swiftly, eyes widening, "I didn't mean to!"

"Oh," Amy laughed, "Yes, you did."

"No," Clara asserted, "I didn't."

Amy told her confidently, "Clara Oswald, you never snog someone by accident."

She heard Rory add, she imagined with a nod of his head, "Ever," before he whispered, "Who'd she kiss?"

There were a set of whispers and Rory whistled, and then Amy stated simply, "Are you going to snog him again tonight?"

Taking a long breath, Clara closed her eyes and frowned, bringing a palm gently to her forehead to state sadly, "No," before elaborating, "I'm not even sure if he'll come back – he disappeared from the dream last night just after it happened. I think I might have frightened him." She twisted her fingers around the fabric of her nightie and winced, "I was thinking about trying to go see him."

There was silence at the other end of the line and Clara waited. She imagined Amy's blue eyes were wide as saucers, trained on a space on the wall across from her as she bit her lip, trying to figure out whether she should crack a joke or encourage her. She'd always tried to get her out of her shell before the accident; she'd been the one to introduce her to Danny after a teacher's meeting, pushing them together with simple name introductions and an enthusiastic, "Go on, get knowing."

"Why?" Amy finally asked simply.

Clara shrugged, "Dunno, thought maybe if I saw him in person it might be different. It's a dream. Maybe I'm different and he wouldn't like me."

"You think he likes you," Amy immediately questioned.

Considering it, Clara's shoulder slumped as she admitted, "He kissed me back."

There was a snicker on the line and she rolled her eyes, waiting as her friend stated simply, "Go to sleep, Oswald, you'll feel better in the morning. Say g'night, Clara."

Rory called brightly, "Good night, Clara!"

And then Amy added quietly, "You and I, lunch, tomorrow. All the details, and please don't snog in front of Maddie, let's not further traumatize this poor child of yours."

"Good night, Amy," Clara laughed, and her friend returned the words as she hung up. Clara tossed her mobile onto the bed, sighing at it before twisting to look at the black box settled atop her night stand wondering whether or not she should. She thought about Maddie, about how everyone insisted if she missed a night the little girl wouldn't even know, and then she shifted off the bed and moved closer to it, fingertips touching the wires of the nodules before she climbed into bed and switched on her alarm.

Her eyelids drooped, exhausted, and Clara felt the tears that rolled over her temples as she understood she needed sleep. She needed deep, undisturbed sleep. Glancing at the machine again, and to the photo that sat in a silver frame just behind it, she found herself sobbing as she turned away from it all, curling up on her right side and reaching for her mobile again. She dialed and sniffled hard, waiting for the man on the other end to pick up before she took a long breath, knowing he was holding his on the other side of the line.

"Dad," she began softly, "Can you come up here and sit with me until I fall asleep?"

He laughed softly, and then sighed, "I'll bring the crossword."

Two minutes later, he was opening her front door slowly, and when he appeared in the doorway it was with a sad smile as he took her in. She imagined she looked dreadful. The dark circles underneath her eyes seemed perpetual lately, and now they'd be reddened by the tears she'd shed. He moved towards her and sat on the other side of the bed, kicking off his slippers and nestling himself into the two pillows there, sitting up and readying his crossword and pen, just like he used to at her mother's side when she'd been younger.

"Go on, Clara," he urged, "Get to sleep."

She nodded, but her eyes hadn't closed. She stared at the sheets crumpled between them and she told him honestly, "I'm afraid."

"Of what?" He questioned softly, his hand coming out to smooth the hair at the top of her head.

Glancing up at him, she admitted, "The nightmares."

"You still have nightmares when you're not plugged into that thing?" He frowned and his body shifted towards her, slumping slightly to get a better look at her. "Clara, you should talk to someone about this."

Shaking her head, she blinked away tears and told him, "No, they'll just want to psychoanalyze me, tell me the nightmares are normal and I should work through them – or that they're a product of sleep deprivation. They'll tell me not to see Maddie; they'll blame it on that machine and those dreams."

Nodding, he leaned into his elbow, dropping down fully beside her. "Clara, I don't care what they blame it on and neither should you. You can't be afraid to fall asleep, it's not healthy."

"Without that, I can't see my baby girl, dad," she moped. "Without those dreams, she's just a shell in a bed in a hospital and I can't..." she trailed, taking a ragged breath, "I can't accept that for my baby."

His hand moved over her hair, and then rubbed at her shoulder and he nodded sympathetically before telling her, "Clara, close your eyes and everything will be just fine."

"You can't say that," she groaned. "You can't know that."

"No," he answered, "No, I can't, but nothing gets any better by you exhausting yourself – you might find yourself lying in a bed just a few rooms away from Maddie and what's that gonna gain any of us, eh?"

She shook her head and bit her lip and she promised herself she would go to sleep. Clara closed her eyes and she felt her father pull her sheets up to her neck and she listened as he pulled himself back to up to sit, his pencil slowly beginning to scratch away at paper. Occasionally he hummed some song she hadn't heard in ten years and then there were the sporadic gasps of eureka as he filled in another column or row. It took a while, or at least it felt like a while, but she finally fell into that nightmare she'd been terrified of.

Clara finally dropped into the driver's seat of a car she hadn't seen in over a year, looking into the backseat to see the bloodied faces of two little terrified girls, their shrieks a mess of confusion and fear. And she pushed her foot to the pedal, listened to the engine roar, but the car didn't budge. Clara soon found it hadn't budged because they were already lodged into the ditch and somehow they were sinking. The windows beside each child burst and the mud and murky waters began leaking in and she watched as it rose slowly up her daughter's chest, soaking her pink and yellow dress.

It was frigid, numbing her legs and for a moment she forgot one had broken, until the searing pain shot up her thigh and righted her in her seat and she looked out through the window to see the deadened eyes of the man who'd put them there. It was never how it happened in reality; always somehow worse than the almost instant state of unconsciousness the crash had rendered her. In nightmares he was always there; in nightmares she could always hear her daughter and her best friend's daughter crying just behind her as he attacked them. Clara watched the smile that crept over his darkened face as he nodded again to Maddie and Melody and she turned in spite of the pain, to see them gasping as the waters crawled up their pale necks and finally began to drown them.

She screamed, hands slipping over her seatbelt as she tried to free herself to get them out. Clara heard the gurgles go silent and then she felt the mud weighing her into her seat before the pounding on the window began. He was trying to break through and on one solid punch, that front windshield cracked, those fingers clamped around her throat, beginning to squeeze the life out of her, and Clara shot up in bed with a strangled cry her own hands reaching to slap hands that no longer existed.

Her eyes scanned the room and found darkness and silence and she pushed herself up to sit in bed, bringing her knees up into her chest as she tried to control her breathing. Swallowing against the drought in her throat, she kept her eyes wide open; knowing closing them would mean reliving that nightmare, so she began to hum lullabies to herself. She thought about Maddie running towards her in the daycare and she thought of Maddie cradled in her arms at the end of a long day, lying in bed together giggling and singing silly songs. Clara concentrated on the life she remembered in her little girl's face until she calmed enough to find the courage to leap out of bed.


	9. Chapter 9

Of course she hadn't shown up, John thought as he plucked the nodules off his head and tossed them aside, keying in the last few entries about a client before clocking out of his computer to find his belongings. It was the end of the day, or the beginning of one, he considered, looking to dark skies outside through his slit of a window, where the sun would begin to taint the horizon pink fairly soon. He smiled, bowing his head bashfully as he buttoned up his shirt and made his way to the lift, eyes closing against the feel of it dropping down several floors to the lobby.

Now he could head home to his sparsely furnished apartment with its drawn window shades and he could drop into a real bed and toss about for hours, trying to get some actual sleep. It seldom worked. He'd end up pacing the floor, or jogging around the parks as people were at work, or he would read some book he'd read a thousand times, making a note on top of a note. John would watch terrible daytime television and he would assemble a dinner he stared at for ten minutes before taking a few small bites, and he would shower, readying himself to come back to the office.

The dreams were better than his life, he'd told Jack once, and he'd gotten a scornful look in response and the playful jest, "You just don't know what living's about, old friend."

He'd forgotten, John supposed, but he no longer cared.

Perhaps he'd grown tired of trying.

Stepping out into the lobby, he moved lazily towards the circular glass doors, ready to head home to another uneventful day, but he found himself staring into the bewildered brown eyes of a familiar woman, entering the building. Without thinking, he approached her, one hand hovering over her shoulder, never daring to touch her as he asked quietly, "Are you alright?"

She smiled, and then laughed nervously, one hand coming up to scratch at her temple before pushing her hair behind her ear, the motion turning his stomach with dread knowing she absolutely wasn't. He dropped his hand over the air beside her and chanced to place it over her elbow, leading her towards a set of brightly colored couches, as he gave the worried looking receptionist a small nod that indicated all was fine for now. It wasn't often they had dejected customers show up, but generally it lead to authorities being called. John had no such inclination with this particular customer.

"I don't know," Clara finally told him as they sat. "I don't know, but I need to talk to someone here."

"Any particular someone," John laughed, then tilted his head forward to posit, "Or will I do."

Glancing up at him, she narrowed her eyes in recognition and then said, "You, you left a message on my answering machine, when a representative was assigned to me and my daughter – do you know Operator 1112? Mr. Smith?" Her eyes left his and she looked to the lift, "Is he still here, they said he'd be getting off soon when I called yesterday." She thought and repeated, "Seven to five, it's five after," she frowned, "I've missed him, haven't I?"

He felt his throat constrict knowing if he told her it was him, he might upset her. She'd feel betrayed; she'd feel lied to, and he could see in her rigid stance – even seated – that she didn't need that in that moment. What she needed was a set of ears to listen and a comforting presence, only one of which he imagined he could provide, so he shook his head and waved a hand in front of her, gaining her attention.

"I'm terribly sorry," he explained, "But yes, you've missed him – as it's now Saturday, a good many employees will, quite honestly, make a run for it."

She laughed softly, head bowing, body bending, accepting his answer in an oddly painful manner that broke his heart. "Then I'm sorry to have bothered you," she told him quietly, taking a long breath and letting it out slowly. "Will he be in Monday then?"

"Whatever's on your mind shouldn't have to wait until Monday," he replied swiftly, brow rising as she looked up at him curiously. "I promise I can be of assistance," he offered.

Nodding slowly, she asked him, "What's your take on all of this?" Her hand came up to gesture to the room before continuing, "It's unnatural, right – if it weren't, we'd be able to do this on our own, without the bloody machines – but at the same time, it's not harming anyone, right? We use science every day to create all sorts of things we can't have naturally that help us, like artificial limbs or vaccines or refrigerators."

"Ah, modern science, gifting us with refrigerators." He teased, smiling.

Clara laughed and he watched her fingers fidget with each other in her lap.

"Miss," he began softly, knowing not to say her name for fear of being discovered; wanting to reach out to grasp those hands within his own, to know their softness against his own in the world outside of virtual encounters, but he knew it would be too forward, so instead he continued, "If you're having any doubts about the effects, I could offer you a tour."

She smiled up at him kindly and informed him with a small nod, "I've had the tour."

Raising a finger, he stated, "Ah, you've had the new client tour," shaking his head and frowning, he scoffed in faux disappointment, "You've had the sales pitch."

His eyes closed when she giggled and he thought about all of the times they'd told him things weren't the same in reality as they were in the dream. But that small shake of a laugh made his heart drum and his inner ear vibrate in just the same way as it had every time she'd gifted him with it in those few dreams and he found himself smiling at her as he stood and offered a hand, tilting his head towards the lifts, hoping she'd offer him the kindness of that simple touch.

"Come on," he growled playfully, "You've already made the trip down here; you might as well get something for your travels!"

Clara considered it, and then slowly she began to nod, fingers reaching to take his outstretched hand, something about the tenderness of his hold as she stood warming her heart. "It's Saturday," she informed him, "And you've just gotten off work... shouldn't you be rushing home as well?"

Shrugging as he reluctantly released her hand as they began their walk to the front desk to settle his belongings behind the counter space with the receptionist before they moved towards the lifts, John supplied, "It's alright, I've got nothing to rush home to."

His tone was meant to amuse her, but Clara frowned as they entered the space together, watching him reach a slender finger to push at a floor button. For a moment she wondered what his story was. How had this man come to work there? She imagined an older gentleman might provide a comforting presence – perhaps he'd worked there all of his adult life? Clara smiled at the thought, and then she wondered, how DID he handle his clientele?

And did he know Mr. Smith?

They moved up swiftly through the building and she clenched her jaw against the sensation, smirking when she saw him do the same, understanding it wasn't a fear of falling, but a simple disgust at the unnatural propulsion upwards she was supposed to enjoy, she'd been told a thousand times. Clara hated roller coasters for similar reasons.

"We have three overlapping shifts, but the morning shift's the slowest," John offered as they moved out onto the selected floor, "For obvious reasons," he declared, pointing at the early dawn light just beginning to touch the skies through a window at the end of the hall they'd turned into. He walked silently for a moment, then turned to ask, "Have you ever actually seen a work station?"

She shook her head, eyes widening at the prospect. They'd told her it wasn't really important, where the employee on their end sat, just that she understood how the equipment functioned to relay the signals back and forth. Clara was told that was all that mattered and she accepted it then, not really listening to it at all; understanding the more talking that happened, the more time away from her daughter she spent.

John smirked as he tapped on a door with his pointer finger, swiping his badge against a grey pad beside it, and then opening the door, raising an arm to usher her inside as he switched on the dim lights. She narrowed her eyes as he explained, "We tend to keep the lighting a bit on the, well, dark side – helps us remain in stasis once we've entered the dream state."

Nodding, Clara looked to the simple leather padded seat – almost like one would find in a dentist's office. Touching one of the armrests, she nodded to the computer station that sat just beside it. "So it's fairly regular, going into the dream state alongside us," she looked to him, "Your customers."

He smiled, "Climb in, won't hurt a bit." And to her tilted head he bowed his own and added, "I assure you, it's perfectly safe."

"Yes," Clara stated, "But is it allowed?"

Laughing, he turned away, waving a hand in her direction, and then he turned back and told her plainly, "Of course it's not allowed, but you've my expressed permission."

The words earned him a smirk, and a questioning glance before she carefully set her purse down on a slate colored desk beside the door and climbed into the chair, sitting carefully and gripping the arm rests as she took it all in. The computer, she could see, could be swung aside – she imagined that might be safer and more comfortable if the user needed to plug into a dream. No tables or items to kick or slap out of the way, should the body react involuntarily. Like flailing in bed when you think you're falling, she thought with a small grin.

There were no straps or oddities, just the set of nodules on wires, similar to the ones she had back home, slung over the moveable arm of the chair to her right. She picked them up a moment and looked to the man standing beside her, licking her lips before asking, "How long have you been doing this?"

"You mean to ask, have I noticed any negative side-effects from prolonged use," he supplied.

Clara managed a nervous smile before admitting, "I've been connecting to my daughter almost every night for a year and everyone thinks it's not good for either of us. I've spent so much time telling everyone that it's perfectly fine, but lately I'm beginning to wonder if they're right."

She watched his smile shift, edges of his thin lips dropping as his thick brow fell in a sort of apprehension she wasn't expecting from him, and then he looked to the side, casting his expression into the shadows as he stated, "If you think there is a problem, you should probably speak to one of our more technically inclined employees – there should be a few in the building if you'd like me to fetch them for you."

Shaking her head, Clara felt her heart drumming and she was thankful the nodules in her hands weren't connected, or this man might become alarmed. He began to shift from her side, but she reached out to stop him, gently taking his left hand in hers and watching him turn curiously back to her. Clara considered him and the sadness he wore. She looked over his sharp suit and her eyes momentarily darted to the perfectly buttoned crisp white shirt that sat snug at his neck, lips shifting up as she imagined how foolish he'd look in a bow tie.

"No," she finally told him softly, "I think I'd rather talk to you."

He exhaled – with relief she thought to herself – and then he gestured, "Sometimes too much time in the machine, it can exhaust the user." His hand slipped from hers and he pushed both deeply into the pockets of his black slacks. "I'd _recommend_ unplugging for a few nights a week." Then he bowed his head to add, "I'm fairly certain your daughter wouldn't miss you," and he swallowed before stating, "You could give her a ring instead."

John knew the words would hurt, but not saying them would mean admitting he knew her story, which would mean admitting he knew her, and he looked up into the red that had instantly tainted those large doe eyes as she uttered softly, "I can't give my daughter a ring." She laughed and wiped at her eyes, "For starters, she's only five and far too young for a mobile," she took a breath before finishing, "And she's been laid out in a coma for the past year."

He didn't know hearing the words aloud would hurt as much as they did, and he thought to his own daughter and wife and how their absence in those first few years had almost eaten him up alive as he looked back at Clara, seated rigidly in his chair. Reaching, he chanced to lay his hands atop those in her lap and he gave them a squeeze before he uttered, "I'm so very sorry."

She was nodding, her mind so many miles away in that moment, thinking about a little girl in a hospital bed and how she hadn't seen her that night. John let his bottom lip hang slightly; his mind working out just the right way to tell her he was the silly man in her dreams – the one who had missed her that night. He pulled his hands away slowly, curling them at his chest before pressing them together into a tight mass there as he looked to her unshed tears and her clenched jaw.

Taking a breath, he told her instead, "It's not hurting her, and it's not tiring her out – she rests when you're not connected – but it will wear on you." He gestured towards the door with his right hand slowly, "We're warned not to spend too many nights deep in the program; we're told not to care too much," he ended with a tight smile and a stare he aimed at the chair.

"Not to care too much," Clara repeated, voice breaking, "What does that mean?"

He smiled and lifted his eyes to her, "It's hard to enter a dream and speak with someone, to learn the things that ail them – to understand the reasons they use these machines to begin with – and not feel empathy towards them. Our training, it lends itself to a more superficial examination of clients, but sometimes it's hard not to go a step further," he trailed and then asked, "Is this why you'd like to speak with Mr. Smith?"

Even in the darkness, he could see the blush that stained her cheeks before she turned away with a small smile before asking, "Would he get in trouble, for caring too much?"

Laughing lightly, John answered honestly, "No, not with the company, only with himself."

Her head tilted, mouth parting slightly in an unspoken question.

And he answered, "Actual interaction – or I should say, more personal interaction – in the real world with clients isn't strictly forbidden, but it is discouraged, and in the end, they break our hearts a bit anyways," his hands opened as he continued, "When they leave, as they all eventually do."

Her giggle was soft, easy, and he watched her nod, "I'm sure I'll be around a while."

"So long as your daughter remains in her coma?" John questioned with a sudden frown. He thought he should feel elated, knowing he'd see her again in dreams, but he worried what would happen after too many years holding on too strongly. He worried because he'd learned the hard way there came a time when one had to let go.

Nodding slowly, eyes glazing over again, she told him, "She's awake in those dreams." She smiled, "I can watch her grow up as she was meant to."

"While simultaneously watching her wither away in reality?" And to her hardened stare, he took a step back, eyes closing as he stammered, "I'm sorry, I'm truly sorry, I overstepped."

She slipped out of the chair and argued, "Yes, yes you have."

Clara moved past him and reached for her bag, and then looked to the items on his desk. There weren't too many – a standard calendar of events, mostly marked with company meetings and a weekly lunch date with 'Dr. Jones', a cup with a single pen, scissor, and highlighter... but in a corner, just beside an inbox, sat a black photo frame that held an old image of himself, a woman, and a young girl. Clara stared at the photo and she understood too many years had been added to that man's face for it to simply be a photo in need of replacement. These were people gone from his life.

"Divorce?" Clara questioned briskly, slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder and turning to see the way he stared at that photo, knowing she'd seen it. The grief in his eyes was instantly recognizable to her and her stomach dropped as she realized it, even before he'd spoken.

"Death." He smiled; a thin smile that did nothing to veil the sadness before he nodded. "They perished in a fire, twenty years ago. Delia would be about your age now." He sighed as she looked away. "Perhaps I'd have been a grandfather, though I imagine I would have been rubbish at it – I wasn't a very good father in her short life. There were a great many things I didn't understand until after they were gone."

She opened her mouth to apologize, but he raised a shaky hand to stop her.

On a grin and through a clenched jaw, he told her quietly, "This place is full of sad stories, full of people in search of answers to questions one should never have to ask, on both ends of the line." He straightened, "I'm very sorry, about your daughter, and about what I said before, I'll be sure to let Mr. Smith know you've stopped by, and I'll see you out, Miss."

"Clara," she told him quietly as he passed. "My name is Clara."

Standing at the door, head held high, he looked to the brighter lights in the hallway, feeling his eyes reddening as he thought again about telling her who he was. But he knew her pain, and he understood telling her the truth meant admitting she'd been deceived. So he turned with a weak smile and he told her simply, "John," before raising an arm to usher her back towards the lifts.


	10. Chapter 10

Clara stirred the milk into her tea and then stared at it for several minutes, watching the steam that rose slowly above the murky brown liquid. She couldn't remember what flavor she'd ordered, or what sat heavily in her stomach, but she could still see John's eyes staring into hers with that familiarity. Of course she blamed it on shared pain – a terrible side effect of losing loved ones was she often felt connected to those who had lost their own. There was something hidden in the corner of all of their eyes.

That thing they were missing and never stopped looking for.

That hope they wished would find its way back.

That understanding apology.

It was something she began to understand after her mother passed when she'd been a teenager. How different everyone looked to her in the weeks after and how she found herself looking for some normality in the eyes of those in a counseling group. She hated going, something her father insisted on – six months, they'd agreed – but she appreciated the fact that as annoying as it seemed at the time, at least those people there understood what it meant. They didn't just offer condolences and _pretend_ to know what she was going through; they did.

That grief buried itself deep enough for her to get through school. It hid away over the years as she partied with friends and earned a degree and walked down an aisle. And she thought it had gone entirely by the time she was holding her own baby girl in her arms, looking around that hospital room, past her father, with the hopes that her husband had arrived. That was when it resurfaced. It was slow, a sadness she couldn't explain when she touched the button nose on a giggling infant or a frown when she watched the girl begin to crawl in odd tugs and falls of her tiny body.

That gaping wound in her heart brought her tears as her daughter slept, and unexpected mourning as Maddie grew, because her mother hadn't been there to see her. And it only worsened with his affairs. With the stench of perfume that wasn't her own, and the unexplained late night entrances, and the lingering scent of sex on his body once he'd fallen into bed beside her. It broke her heart entirely when he began to retaliate against her accusations, when he threatened to take her child, when he bruised her face as Maddie cried. When he nearly trampled the baby on his way to slam the door behind him as he sought solace in a pub.

Maybe he hadn't wanted children – except she'd made it plainly clear she wanted to be a mother; he'd agreed she'd make an excellent one. In fact, he'd been the one to take her packet of birth control and drop it in the bin with a kiss to her forehead and a greedy hand to her waist. Maybe he hadn't wanted her – Clara had 'let herself go' in the months after Maddie's birth, too consumed with struggling against post-partum depression to do anything more than breastfeed and nurture the little girl who grinned toothlessly back up at her. She became convinced if she just gave him the woman he wanted her to be, he would stop all of the foolishness.

It took her too long to understand it had nothing to do with her at all. Sometimes people just changed, or perhaps he hadn't changed at all. The idea had never occurred to her; that he'd somehow been this way before and the man she'd met and married had been a facade. People, she told her daughter one morning as she packed up their belongings, were sometimes terrible; and terrible men, she told the little girl with the unruly bob of dark hair and the big searching eyes, became daddies.

She promised herself she'd never say his name again when she retained full custody.

She promised herself she'd never say his name again after the restraining order.

She promised her daughter.

And she wondered how the world could simply go on turning.

Listening to the cars groaning just outside of the window at her right, and the occasional chime of a bicycle bell, Clara wondered how she'd ever lived her life without that pain of loss and disappointment. For a while she thought maybe she had. When it was just her and Maddie in her little flat, her father a few floors above her. Clara could remember easily all of the songs and laughter and games. She could easily see her daughter's glowing smile while they played and her grin as she slurped up spaghetti and her curious stare as they watched the tele. She could remember the calm she felt, cuddled into the bed with her, stroking her hair and humming a lullaby.

How had she ever been so carefree?

And how did others managed to find her way back?

How had Amy and Rory?

Looking to the way the top of the tea held onto three bubbles just beside the string hanging over the edge, she thought about those first months after the accident. Clara had been in the hospital for one and she'd seen the hollow look in that other woman's eyes every time she came to visit. Amy sat at her bedside for hours, numbed to the world and Rory stood at the window, searching out something in the sky Clara knew he never found. The first few days were wordless. They were filled with tears that ranged from silent to raging, and on several occasions Rory had thrown his hands up and exclaimed that he needed to take a walk. A walk after which his eyes would be bloodshot and his breath would smell faintly of alcohol neither woman spoke of, mostly because they wouldn't speak.

When the words finally did come, they were questions. They were quiet considerations and accusations Amy carefully hid behind simply statements. And she understood; Clara absolutely knew where her friend's suspicions came from. Did she know her ex-husband was in town? Did she know he was in the area? Had Clara talked to him about seeing Maddie? Didn't he have no right to see the girl? How long before the crash did they notice the car was following them? Hadn't she seen him in the park? Hadn't she noticed him in the pizza parlor?

Hadn't Clara been able to just know he was in the vicinity?

Some part of her hated herself for not knowing. After Amy left, after a quiet goodbye and a tight holding of her good hand, Clara would turn and she would sob. Her daughter was a floor above her, recovering, they told her. Her daughter, a floor above her, was hanging on for her life, and Clara was left alone each night to dwell on the notion that it was all her fault. Because she should have known he was around. She should have known he was there.

She should have done something about it.

Except she knew it wasn't the truth. She'd admitted to Rory one night, when he'd come back in for a pair of sunglasses Amy had left and found her there with her hands on her face, uncontrollably gasps sputtering from her dry lips. She'd apologized in a mess of words for not knowing and he'd held her for a moment, whispering quietly into her hair, "Clara, there's nothing you could have done."

She never knew if the man had gone downstairs to tell his wife, she never asked. Clara recovered enough to stand and take a lift to see her daughter and the girl's condition had eventually been upgraded to stable. Stable, they told her as she stood over her hospital bed, hand moving slowly over the girl's head, was an improvement. But they didn't know if she'd ever fully recover. She was moved out of intensive care and into the coma ward and she remained there after Clara had been discharged.

Her mobile buzzed and she looked down at it, momentarily confused before picking it up to see the message from her father – the question of what time she'd return home, because he was caught in a perpetual loop of fearing for her life every time she stepped out of that building. She tapped slowly and added a happy emoji and then dropped the mobile back onto the wooden table with a small clatter, eyes closing as she gripped the mug and then brought it up to her lips.

Apple, she thought, she'd picked apple because her daughter loved them. With a smile, she recalled the girl tossing a small one from hand to hand, glancing up at her as it sat in her right to declare, "Do you know what they say, mummy? An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Do you think that's true? I rather like my doctor, mummy."

"Good memory?" Amy asked, settling into the seat across from her with a simple sandwich on a white plate and her own mug of tea to sit beside it. She wore a refreshed smile – the smile of someone who slept through the night and drank a cup of coffee in the morning out of habit rather than necessity.

Clara managed to grin in return as she admitted, "Thinking about Maddie."

"Ah," Amy sighed, picking up one half of her sandwich, "Definitely a good memory then."

She watched her eat for a while, touching the edge of her mug with the tips of her fingers, remembering Saturdays in the past they'd spent with the girls in that same little shop. If she closed her eyes, she could see them both on either side of them, giggling and mocking adults with a lifting of their pinkies as they drank their own small cups of hot chocolate – both girls detested tea.

"I can see them too," Amy told her quietly, and she opened her eyes to see the woman staring at the empty space beside her. She laughed sadly and nodded to look back at Clara, "It's hard sometimes, to remember they won't just... be there."

Watching the frown that turned her lips, Clara understood – she still had that chance. One day Maddie might defy all odds and wake up and then it'd be just the three of them. It burned her heart to hope for that, knowing her friend would still have that empty place at her side. Her lower lip trembled at the thought and she felt Amy's hand wrap around hers, nodding to urge her to meet her gaze.

"I would rather Maddie be here with us, Clara – I miss my baby girl enough to want yours at your side."

The words were honest and came with a reddening of her bright eyes and Clara pinched her lips together, hand slipping away so she could wipe away at her tears, telling her quietly, "You read minds, you know."

"My crystal ball's stashed in the attic back home," Amy teased, sniffling and leaning back in her chair, taking a moment to watch the passerby's, not unlike Clara had been doing when she arrived.

They remained quiet, only the occasional bell of the front door to disturb their thoughts, and then Clara told her softly, "I went to see him, at the DeepDream Institute this morning."

Amy turned her head, a hand raising slightly as she finally smiled and asked, "And what?"

"He wasn't there," Clara lamented, "Already gone home for the weekend."

Lips dropping, Amy sighed, "I'm sorry, Clara."

"Nah," Clara sighed, "It was stupid."

"Thought you'd saunter right up to him and ask him out on a date?"

Her friend was laughing softly to herself, eyes searching Clara's as she shrugged and smirked. "Dunno, but I did meet another odd fellow."

"Place seems full of questionable men, Clara," and she tilted her head to add, "Haven't you had your fill?"

Heart falling, Clara straightened and her hands came together in her lap tightly, fingernails picking at edges of skin she'd picked at too much. She nodded slowly. "It was stupid, I know."

But Amy leaned forward, brows dropping as she hissed, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way, Clara," then she pulled her hands apart, "Tell me about the bloke, really, tell me."

She tried to smile, conjuring up the image of John's face vividly from just a few hours before, and she found herself wondering what he'd be up to then. Girls went for tea and to the shops – what did older single men do in their spare time to unwind from their jobs and their hectic lives? She presumed he was still single, hearing his words – "nothing to rush home to _"_ – echoing in her mind.

"You're REALLY thinking about him," Amy taunted. Then she lifted her chin to ask, "Is he hot?"

Clara laughed, "He's grey."

"So," Amy scoffed, "Older man, not so bad, already been through his fair share of life – not looking for a fling, good settle-down potential."

"Amy!" Clara laughed as she let her jaw drop and her eyes widen, the amusement of the moment bending her friend towards her comically as Clara shifted back in her chair and shook her head. "He's..." she thought a moment before deciding on, "kind."

Nodding slowly, Amy pushed her bottom lip out, considering the word before asking, "But Clara, is he... hot?"

She threw a napkin at her that swooshed through the air in front of them before landing in a sad heap between their plates. On a groan, she rolled her eyes and stated firmly, "He's got a pleasant smile, and his hair's a bit fluffy, and he has sad eyes." She frowned, looking to the discarded napkin on the table. "There was something about him that was familiar," she took a breath before admitting, "His wife and child died a long time ago, I think it was just that shared grief."

The woman across from her stopped giggling slowly and she watched Clara, a move that turned Clara's attention back to the street outside. A man was buying flowers from a street vendor and a little boy kicked at a pigeon before his mother scolded him. On the other side of the table, Amy was wondering what Clara meant, because maybe Amy hadn't a clue; maybe Amy was better equip to tuck away that mourning for good.

"Maybe it's good you found him instead of the bow tie guy," Amy finally told her, waiting for her to turn back and meet her questioning stare. "Maybe if you'd found who you were looking for, it would have ended with you having a good shag, but otherwise nothing accomplished – and," she pointed, "Without a dream date watching over you." She nodded slowly, "Maybe it's good you found this guy instead."

Clara swallowed roughly, and then she narrowed her eyes and repeated, "A good shag?"

"Yes, it's about time you found one," Amy explained, "For moving on, remembering your libido," then she pointed again and asked quietly, "Clara, you've still got one of those, right? Didn't lose it in the accident?"

She threw another napkin that landed serendipitously next to the first.

"Come on," Amy called lightly, "When's the last time you let yourself get out and have fun."

Glancing around, Clara shrugged, "Sorry, I seem to recall us having a very particular conversation about the difference between your explanation of fun and my own."

"Oh," Amy sighed, "That's right – this coffee shop, it's your idea of fun."

"Whereas you'd fit right at home in some sort of Coachella event."

"Don't knock Coachella," Amy spat before grinning.

Shifting forward to take her mug, Clara nodded slowly in a sort of agreement, and then she explained, "I didn't go to DeepDream looking for a shag, Amy – I wanted," her right hand came up at her side, "Answers, I suppose."

"Ones you've gotten over and over again?" Amy retorted, "Ones that told you it hurts neither you nor Maddie to take time for yourself?" She pressed her lips together, Clara knew, examining her, before asking, "What did this odd fellow say?"

Clara stared at her tea.

"Same, didn't he," Amy prompted.

She met her accusing stare. Then turned away from it, "I still have nightmares, when I'm not half in control of what I'm dreaming."

"Nightmares?" Amy questioned.

Biting her lip, Clara slowly turned the mug in her hand for no real reason, telling her, "About the crash, always exaggerated, but I see the girls..." she trailed, eyes lifting to end, "I see him."

Her friend asked timidly, "Clara, have you considered going to see someone about this?"

Shaking her head vehemently, Clara argued, "I don't need some shrink in my head."

"But you'll let bow tie man in there."

She shrugged, "He's not really there to do that sort of thing."

"What's he do, when he's there?"

Nodding slowly, Clara stated plainly, "He just makes sure we're safe."

The other woman made an agreeable noise that Clara responded to with a tilting of her head and a raising of her brow, just waiting until Amy finally told her, "He can't be your boyfriend, Clara – he's practically made up."

"I did not make him up," Clara spat defensively.

"Whoa girl," Amy immediately responded, hands stretched out over the table. "What about this other guy, the odd fellow with the grey – maybe you could talk to him? He's a human. In the real world."

Gesturing at Amy, Clara told her, "You're a human, in the real world."

"But we," she shifted a palm between them, "Clara, you know there are some things we can't talk about." She frowned then, bowing her head a moment before looking to her and telling her, "I don't want to dredge all that up again. Rory and I are trying to move on, we're trying..." she trailed, head dropping again.

Clara watched her as she shifted back away from her and she looked over the reddening of her friend's cheeks and the way her lips pulled together and her hands fell atop her abdomen and she breathed, "You're trying to have another baby."

Her head slowly shifted up and down and Clara understood all Amy wanted was for Clara to be happy for her, to be encouraging... to be her friend. She didn't want Clara's memory of her daughter's death hanging over her like a dark cloud and for a moment Clara felt the burn of anger rising in her chest. She knew it colored her face and she clenched her jaw as she forced a smile.

How fortunate, she wanted to snap, that one could move on in such ways.

Instead, she managed, "Are you on prenatals yet? I've heard it's good for that sort of thing."


	11. Chapter 11

Turned out, having a baby as you got older became harder. Clara listened for the twenty minutes it took to explain the time tables and the taking of temperatures and the odd positions and the pregnancy tests of the past two months, and she wore a smile that should have earned her some award. Of course she was happy for Amy and Rory; of course she wanted for them anything that would make them happy; of course she worried this wasn't it. Before she could ask, Amy was questioning it herself, nodding to herself as she explained they had conversations for days about whether they were simply trying to replace Melody, or whether they truly wanted a child.

Answers to those sorts of questions were never easy.

Dropping her purse down onto the small table in the corner of the room, Clara looked to Maddie as she lay quietly, taking breath after breath all on her own, and she wondered if she could ever be capable of bringing a second life into the world knowing the first she'd given life to was barely living. For a brief moment, while she sobbed, she considered Amy and Rory lucky that tie had been severed with finality; that guilt had been taken off their shoulders in some small way that Clara might never understand.

And after the tears had dried away, she sat, simply looking over her child's pale features, so very much like her own, as she held her tiny hand lightly and asked, "Would you forgive me if I had another baby one day while you were still here, Maddie?"

She used to think about it, after the divorce, when it was just the two of them. Clara would wonder what it'd be like if she found a good man and made a proper father out of him. The thought made her smile sadly as she thought, momentarily, to Danny. A good man, she considered, still disappeared sometimes. Standing, she moved to the foot of the bed and pulled back the sheets, taking her daughter's legs, one by one, to massage them and shift them around. She kissed at the tips of each of those sets of soft toes and thought about how many therapy sessions she'd undergone to keep her limbs from atrophying. How many more she would have to endure at the hands of men and women she'd never properly met.

"Would you forgive me if I found someone?" Clara asked. "If I spent less time here and more time," she trailed, looking to the quickly darkening sky outside. "If you woke and you were alone and had to wait for me," she began softly, making her way around the bed to sit at her daughter's side and swipe away the bangs she needed to cut, "Would you forgive me, not for moving on, but for moving forward."

She watched those small lips, plump and settled calmly, the way they always were, and she reached to touch her cheeks, thumbs sliding over them slowly, gently, wanting to see her little girl smile back at her. Clara wanted to watch her open her beautifully large dark eyes and giggle up at her shyly, "Yes, I would, mummy."

"I love you," she told her firmly, swallowing back tears as she bent forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, "I love you so very much, and I know... I know you can hear me." She kissed her cheeks and then her nose and she sniffled as she gave the girl's a quick rub with her own, and then she lifted herself up quickly to head home, head leaned painfully into the window on the tube, watching the walls and stops of the underworld fly by.

Her daughter would forgive her, she continually told herself, walking the few blocks back to her building and on the ride up the lift. She stepped into the flat and listened to the silence for a moment, a simple flash of the vibrant noisy world it used to be striking her chest and stealing her air. She could ring her father and he would keep her company, she knew, but she knew it would only worry him. Clara set her purse down and she looked to her answering machine and the way it blinked up at her as she hesitated to press that button.

"Miss. Oswald," John began gruffly, "Please forgive the inappropriateness of this, should this be considered inappropriate – it's quite difficult to tell these days – but it occurred to me after we parted that you might want to discuss more than just the inner workings of the DeepDream Institute. Should you require such assistance, should you require... a friend, I can be reached at the following number..."

John repeated the number twice, and then dropped the phone down on his bed just as soon as he hung up and he pushed his hands roughly into his hair, eyes going wide as he stared in disbelief. He could be fired, he knew. Technically it was absolutely against the rules to use the office system to obtain her home telephone number for anything more than work. She would understand, he considered. This woman would understand he was merely reaching out to lend an ear, he tried to convince himself.

But the panic still gripped at his heart.

"What have I done?" He gasped as he took several long strides from one end of the room to the other and back again, looking back to the phone as though it would stand and detail it back to him in a scornful voice.

It rang.

His eyes burned from holding them open, and he damned it for being face down as he slowly swallowed and reached out to it, flipping it quickly into his palms as it continued to buzz and beep. John took a long breath and he opened his eyes and looked down at it, exhaling quickly when he saw the telemarketer number before swiping to ignore the call. And he turned and fell against his dresser, hands gripping the edges, phone clattering across the dark surface to clink softly into an old metal jewelry tray. Something passed down from his great great grandmother; something he had intended to pass on to his own child when she'd turned thirteen.

Something that would end up in a pawn shop one day, discarded and unloved.

"Oh, John," he breathed, lifting his eyes to his haggard reflection, "You idiot."

He turned to look at his neatly made bed, but his exhaustion was a different sort – the kind one didn't so easily rid themselves of. The kind sleep did nothing for. He smiled at the thought, imagining that Jack was lying in his bed, limbs wrapped lazily around some man or woman of his choosing, smile on his deceptively youthful face, as he calmly slept. John imagined it was the luck of the draw, who got to wander about happily through life in a state of oblivion and who got to wrestle with their demons.

Stinging himself awake in a cold shower, he emerged shivering to check his mobile, damning his trembling hands and himself for making that call. He pulled on a thick jumper and sweats, and tied on a worn set of trainers, before moving back out of his flat into the mid-morning sun with a wince. It always surprised him, how that sun could burn his eyes and he smiled because he had the same thought every time – perhaps he should purchase a pair of sunglasses, except he never did. They always seemed too pricey, or too cheap, and Jack threatened to buy him a 'fashionable' pair on occasion, when he complained about it.

Nodding to a woman walking her dog, and then another strolling by with an elaborate pram inside of which an infant wailed, John began jogging alongside the streets, wondering just what Clara would be up to then. It was nearing lunchtime and he worried he'd offended her with what he'd said about her child. She'd left so wordlessly, so seemingly defeated by her visit. He'd watched her as she'd walked away from the building, towards the tube, he knew, with her head low, eyes to the ground, never once turning back.

He'd wanted to call her back then, to pull her towards the park and sit her down and explain to her that he understood more than she could ever know, that pain she was feeling. His daughter had succumbed almost immediately to the smoke, but his wife had held on. Just three days after the fire, held asleep in a coma against the pain of her burns. John had just those few precious days in which he sat by her side, unable to hold even the bandaged hands that lay there limp as machines kept her breathing. He'd reached out to her in a dream then, when they knew it was too late to save her.

A dream where she questioned where Delia was; where she questioned why they were there.

His wife had detested the idea of the DeepDream Institute, even as he considered employment there, but she was thankful for one thing – her ability to say goodbye. She'd hugged him as fully as she could in that dream state, and he'd held on tightly as she had whispered in his ear, "I'll find Delia, we'll be waiting," and then she'd faded.

John stopped, his lungs burning for air as he stumbled into a railing beside the walkway, heaving the sparse contents of his stomach onto the grass as he waved a worried passerby away. He'd woken with her name on his lips, breathed out in a gasp, and he'd looked up to find them working their best to save her, but he knew. He'd crumpled into a useless mass in a corner of that room absolutely knowing he'd never see her alive again.

He'd arranged the funerals.

He'd stood diligently as his wife and daughter were buried side by side.

His daughter in the space meant for him.

And he'd fallen into a stupor.

It took months of visitors with their pre-cooked meals and their care packages of essentials and their recommended psychologists and their books and crosswords and pamphlets to get him to finally leave his flat for even a breath of time. It took a young man with a folder and a winning smile named Jack Harkness – a young worker at the DeepDream Institute who had seen the brain activity during that interaction with his wife, had found his employment application from months before – who knocked comically and refused to leave until he heard him out.

Apparently it wasn't an ordinary position, being the conduit between dreamers. Jack had asked to visit him to offer him a job and spent most of his first trip sneering at his decor and eating the contents of his fridge, but in the end, they'd talked for an hour about the prospect of it. It was difficult to think on such things after the death of loved ones, but even he knew the help of others would only carry him so long without proper employment. So they talked. About what he'd be doing; about why they'd considered him. About how many people he could help – people who had been in his shoes; people who were going to be in the future.

Jack's second trip came with large take away pizza they devoured as they watched rugby and shouted about unfair play calling and cheating referees and John thought maybe, if nothing else, the Institute could give him someone to talk to. For all of his visitors, this was the first man to make him feel like the world might be normal again one day. Apprehensively, he accepted the 'dream intermediary representative' position on a temporary basis, with that nineteen year old idiot at his side encouraging him.

Twenty years later, he was still there, on his way to retirement with the company – something they seemed surprised about, since most left the company as their hair greyed and they grew older. The vanity of the dreamers, Jack explained as he showed him a bottle of his own hair tinting solution, was that if they had to see their representatives, they wanted them young. And so as workers aged, they left their position. Some switched to a less invasive position; desk jobs saddled down with mountains of paperwork or lists of phone calls that needed to be made. Sales pitchers, John often called them, the people who scourged hospitals and counseling centers for potential clients.

But John preferred his position, and he had no reason to leave it.

In his twenty years, he'd had watched parents unite with children and children reunited with parents and he'd stood dutifully out of the way of young couples separated by distances work out that itch in their loins and he'd turned a blind eye to affairs held under the guise of meetings. It wasn't his job to meddle, he knew, merely to ensure the physical and mental safety of the clients. And he'd figured out the best way to do that and maintain his position was to create an illusion to go with it all.

They weren't encouraged to do so, and he wasn't even sure how he'd been able to maintain it so long, but he'd created the Doctor. The young face with the silliness, those lanky arms and legs, and the ridiculous bow tie everyone seemed to love. It didn't seem to matter who he approached, they preferred that man to him, and so he offered them that comfort and he excelled at his job. They only knew his operator number and so his operator number received plenty of calls of appreciation and his superiors rewarded him annually for it.

"One day," Jack had told him with a shake of his head, "They're going to find out what you're doing."

"And what then?" John had replied, "Fire me for utilizing their game to my advantage?"

Jack understood – there were no rules against what he was doing. He was still himself; he was still aiding the clientele in the way he'd been hired to do. He'd simply found a way to do it longer than most. And then he'd met Clara. Clara who gave him that smile and looked upon him with those eyes and didn't wave him away when the questioning was done, almost as if she didn't mind the company. Almost as if she wanted him there. And then she'd kissed him.

It had been a complete accident, he knew that for certain. He'd turned to take her in, hoping she'd be looking away, and she'd landed her lips to his. He imagined if she hadn't wanted it, she'd have broken it off instantly with a shy apology, but she hadn't and neither had he. Those two elevated heart rates, beating quickly in tandem, would be in his digital file somewhere and if they chose, they could question him. If they asked him, what could he possibly say – the only visual remnant of the kiss would be their memories. If she didn't report him, as she very well could, there was no proof except his word.

Spitting on the ground and turning to sit against the railing, he took several long breaths, looking out at the greying skies over London with a scowl before he plucked his mobile from his pocket to check for missed calls, staring down at a blank screen. Why would she call him, he laughed to himself, picking himself up to drop the item back heavily into his right pocket before gripping his waist at either side, pinching slightly with his thumb and forefinger, reminding himself of his age.

"She probably has her own father, right?" He asked blankly, shaking his head and closing his eyes.

Of course that wasn't how he wanted to approach her; of course, not after that kiss. Except, he thought as he raised his hands slightly to look at their wrinkled pale color against the dark grey asphalt beneath them, that hadn't been how she'd looked at him at all. He replayed their conversation in his head and he thought of the distant look in her eyes when he'd mentioned his daughter's age, he knew she'd heard him make the comparison. Delia would be twenty eight, he was a few year shy of sixty.

Clara was thirty.

He'd read it in her file. She'd just turned thirty the past November and she'd be thinking about young men who'd make good fathers, John knew – not men old enough to be her own. He laughed at himself and waved at a jogger who stared. Clara would be thinking about exotic dates and wild sex and long-term commitments and that's why she'd wanted to meet the Doctor. She was still young and fertile and might be thinking of children and the men who could raise them and the Doctor looked the part. And that was why, he could hear Jack say, no one created personas, even if they were capable.

Because the Doctor would break her heart when she realized he was just some old man. The mask he wore to alleviate her fears and the fears of her daughter would be whipped away and leave him standing there and she would take a step away from him then. The niceties of their former meeting, the little smiles and the gentleness of her voice would filter away to leave her own reality: the necessary harshness of a mother protecting her young the best she could.

"You won't call her again," he told himself gruffly.

"You'll re-assign her case," he said on a nod. "Anyone but Harkness."

"Monday morning," he agreed with himself.

His pocket buzzed and he groaned, imagining Jack had finally woken and he pulled the mobile out to press to his ear with a smile, stating quickly, "Where would you like to meet to tell me all about it?"

He stared at the blue specks that broke the grey sky, waiting for the man to respond, listening to the momentary silence before Clara finally responded, "Um. There's a spot, not far from your office, it had red awnings, some Italian sounding name, thought we might have dinner? Professionally, of course. Do you know the place?"

John's heart was thudding in his chest before he breathed simply, "Clara?"

"Yes?" Then she stuttered, "I'm sorry, is it a bad time?"

Eyes drifting to find the ground, he shook his head at nothing, then brought a hand up to rub at his forehead, telling her quietly, "No, no, not a bad time at all – six alright?"

She laughed nervously, and then told him plainly, "Sure, six is fine."

"See you then," he responded lightly, the tiniest nod of his head as his brow furrowed and he listened to her repeat the words before she ended the call. John held the phone out in front of him, staring at it in disbelief and then he glanced back behind him and broke into a run back towards his flat.


	12. Chapter 12

John was early, Clara noticed as she entered at a few minutes before six in the evening. His greying hair stood in perfect waves, puffed up over his head, as though he'd showered and prepared, she thought with the smallest of smiles. He wore a black jumper that sat comfortably underneath a pressed navy jacket and she swallowed roughly, not looking to the matching jacket, black dress and tights she wore. Clara watched him as he scanned the crowd with those intense eyes of his, searching for her, and for some reason it made her heart jump as he caught sight of her and that look softened.

Raising a hand with an awkward wave, he half stood to gain her attention, looking oddly young in spite of his obvious age. And he was smiling, almost as if he imagined she wouldn't show and Clara though about all the failed dates he might have had over the years – all of the women who took one look at him and abandoned him to eat alone. Then she looked away a moment and reminded herself, it's not a date. Except it was dinner and they were in nice clothes and the Italian place that had been brightly lit and casual during the day when she'd walked past it now had dimmed lights and romantic music.

She could hear Amy in her mind, giggling and telling her brightly, "Go on, Clara, shag him until his greys have greys," and her cheeks reddened as she neared the table, trying to push that woman's confident nod out of her head as she watched John pull her chair out for her, gesturing at her to have a seat.

Why'd he have to be a gentleman, she argued with herself. Couldn't he just be a loaf, just sitting there in his chair watching her struggle with her own? He gave her shoulders the lightest of pats just before going back to swing into his seat, telling her softly, "I've ordered garlic rolls to start, hope you don't mind."

Smiling shyly, understanding he presumed she'd be on time, Clara shook her head. "Not at all," she told him. Good, she thought, they'd have terrible breath. No one could think on snogging, much less shagging, with terrible breath. At least, she imagined it was impossible.

John swallowed his doubts, or rather, he tried to shake them away, looking at her across the table, knowing this place probably wouldn't have been her first choice if she'd seen it at night. The thought made him smile as he observed her looking around at the dimmed lighting and the soft violin music set at a volume just low enough to be subtle, but just high enough that they could have an intimate conversation, if they chose to, the next table couldn't accidentally overhear. Clara, he knew, had seen it in the daytime, when it was a simple bustling Saturday brunch stop for the sparse weekend workers and tourists, and he chuckled to himself.

"Wasn't what you expected," he told her plainly.

"No," she answered in kind, then she shrugged, "Wrong impressions can easily be made this way."

He nodded, "If it means anything, then, I don't take it you were looking for a romantic dinner date with this old buffer – I understand your intentions clearly."

She watched him smirk before he sighed and leaned back in his chair, glancing up to the waiter who set a plate of rolls between them before they perused the menus and settled on salads and chicken parmesan. They ignored the look the man was giving them just before he walked away, one eyebrow still raised as they set their gazes to each other. Clara didn't understand why she continually met his eyes, or why she was so easily transfixed by them, but she laughed nervously and forced herself to look down at the roll she'd placed on her plate, touching it lightly with her finger.

Thinking about snogging.

"What is it that bothers you so, Ms. Oswald?" He questioned.

Fingers lifting slightly, she began, "Clara, please," because she tired of Ms. Oswald during the week in the classroom and it always sounded odd on weekends, especially coming from an adult. "And it'd be easier to tell you what doesn't."

He smiled when she finally looked up again, nodding slowly and asking, "Then what doesn't?"

She bowed her head in a shy laugh before shaking it and turning her eyes to him to say, "Take you out of the office and you become flirtatious."

John straightened, fingers curling as he placed his hands on the table, telling her, "I'm so very sorry, I don't mean to..."

But she waved him off, "I'm teasing, John." Then she stopped, "Is it alright, if I call you John – would you prefer Mr..." she realized she didn't even know.

He shook his head and scoffed, "Formalities, I thought we had eschewed them."

Clara smirked and nodded, "Then we'll skip the small talk as well." She shrugged out of her jacket, dropping it on the back of her chair before leaning forward to ask firmly, "What made you join the DeepDream Institute?"

He stared at her bare shoulders a moment, mouth slightly agape, before turning his eyes to the glass of water in front of him, picking it up for a sip. "My daughter, thankfully she died quickly, but my wife held on for a few days, and – as you know – there are representatives of the Institute in most hospitals, lingering around coma wards, offering their services." He glanced up to see that sadness resting in her eyes. The understanding. "I utilized said services to say goodbye."

For a moment she said nothing, watching him set the glass down and turn it within his thumb and forefinger, as though trying to find the right spot through which to stare at the table, because he'd looked away from her. Understanding, she knew, it was both wonderful and terrible. She could remember the young woman who'd knocked on the open door and had given Maddie a sympathetic look before diving into her sales pitch. Clara remembered how angry she'd been at first, and how quickly she'd been turned, just thinking about even a final moment with her daughter.

Never had she imagined then, that it would become this routine.

She uttered, finally, "I'm so sorry."

"No need for condolences, Clara, she's been gone for twenty years."

"My condolences," she stated, "Are because I know that while that's true, the pain of it is still there."

They exchanged a simply knowing nod.

John took a breath and explained, "I was unemployed at the time and the Institute saw something in my brain wave activity they said would make me a good candidate for the position, some aptitude for remaining calm, some skill for manipulating the dream environment they said would come in handy, and perhaps I thought it would make amends with the universe in some way – bringing others together for the loss I suffered."

"You owe the universe nothing, John," she lamented, "It's a fool's errand to think otherwise."

"On the contrary, Clara," he sighed, "The universe owed ME those reunions." He looked around the room, at the oblivious patrons chatting and eating, and John continued matter-of-factly, "I lost my parents early on, I've lost friends in the worst of ways, and then my wife and daughter..." he trailed and set his eyes on a couple laughing near the window, "It brings me a bit of solace, knowing what I do helps people atone; helps people move on; helps people come together, even if for a short while." He looked back to her, "It brings me peace to know you're able to spend time with your little one through what we do at the Institute in a way I'll never be able to with my own."

Clara considered him as he stared unabashedly now, and she hated how it turned her stomach delightfully when his lips drifted up into the tiniest of smiles. "Then you're glad you're working there."

He shrugged, "Glad is an odd term; I'm glad I have the means to afford this dinner..."

"Oh," she stated, "I plan to pay..."

Interrupting, he told her with a palm flat out, "No, Clara, consider this my treat, in return for the pleasure of your company."

She watched his hand slip away, dropping over the edge of the table to settle in his lap as she nodded slowly in acceptance. Date, she thought, it was a date. No, she told herself, it wasn't. Completely professional, and that's why she was wearing a dress that showed off too much skin and hugged at her body.

Clara nodded again and simply said, "Thank you."

John was watching her now, waiting, she knew, and she thought – a thousand questions she had that morning that seemed entirely irrelevant now – before he finally asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to know, Clara?"

She hated that he said her name so particularly, as though it were the most important part of his sentence, and she hated that the thought distracted her so terribly. Mostly she hated hearing Amy, laughing in the back of her mind, telling her it was perfectly ok to stare at his lips and wonder. Turning her eyes to the ceiling, she considered the question, trying to twist her mind back on topic when the food arrived, pungent and steaming, and she laughed when he clapped his hands together and stared gleefully.

"Do you not get out much, for this sort of dinner?" She questioned, and to his odd stare, she winced and added, "That wasn't really what I was thinking, it was just sort of what popped in my head just now. And the mouth always follows, you know – it has a way of running off..." she trailed.

Cutting into his chicken and popping a piece into his mouth, his eyes closed and Clara waited as he mulled it over, obviously enjoying himself, before he gestured with his fork, "You should try it, it's delicious." And as he was cutting another piece, he offered, "And no, unfortunately I don't get out often for a nice meal – this place has been sitting here the twenty years I've worked at the Institute, this is the first time I've come in for dinner."

"Are you overworked?" She considered, eyes momentarily lifting up from her own meal she was working on, inflating as she realized she'd said the words aloud.

But he took no offense as he shrugged and told her honestly, "No, I simply haven't had the opportunity."

"No date," she prompted, smile now working her lips.

He grinned back and repeated, "No date."

"This isn't a date," she flatly told him.

On a laugh, he shook his head and replied, "Clara, I understand what this is. Clearly." He held a piece of chicken on his fork and twirled it in the air, telling her plainly, "Go on, ask me about the Institute, about the health monitoring, about how the dream system works, about the effects on the users or the effects on us as middle-men. Anything you'd like to know, there's nothing the Institute has to hide."

She nodded, taking a bite and listening to him agree with her momentary pause to savor it, and then she took a sip of water and asked, "Would you get in trouble if I kissed you in a dream?"

Clara almost stood when he choked, she bent to, but his hand came out and his head shook and then he looked at her across the table in a sort of shock that turned her cheeks red. She felt ashamed, seeing those bright eyes focused on her, those thick brows lowered in contemplation of a proper answer.

"Would I, would..." he swallowed and reached for his glass and then coughed into a napkin. "No," he managed. "No, the dreams aren't monitored in that way, the only way a representative could get in trouble is if they were the one who initiated the contact without the expressed permission of the user, and generally it's against policy to fraternize with users in that way." John chuckled, then coughed, then explained, "We're more in the business of psychology and empathy, than... shall we say, personal companionship."

She was nodding, eating, and then she asked quietly, "Would it be alright if I ordered wine?"

John raised a hand to alert their waiter and he leaned forward to exclaim in a hushed whisper, "I believe I'm in need of a glass myself."

"I'm sorry," she winced, "I didn't mean to spring that on you – and you realize I don't mean you..."

"You kissed Mr. Smith," he told her plainly, then turned and ordered two glasses of red wine before turning back to take in her pink cheeks and the way she looked away. "There's no need for the embarrassment, Clara, it happens more often than you think." He smiled. "Some representatives crave it, I think."

She shifted to look back at him curiously, "Do you think Mr. Smith is trying to be charming for..." she thought about it a moment, hands coming up to turn in front of her before she finished, "Personal gain?"

"Do I think he's trying to woo you?" John asked before tilting his head and telling her plainly, "I know Mr. Smith quite well, Clara, and no, I don't believe he's intentionally trying to woo you." Leaning back in his chair as the wine arrived, he watched her take a long sip before telling her, "We're cut from the same cloth, you could say – Mr. Smith is only there to help you and your daughter."

The words seem to ease a bit of the tension out of those bare shoulders; he thought before turning away, not wanting to think on that exposed skin. Turning his attention to his food, he thought about how Jack would laugh when he told him about this – he'd refrained after her call because the other man would merely offer up terrible suggestions for foreplay and bedroom positions. Jack Harkness, he knew, absolutely fraternized in inappropriate ways with clientele.

"How long do you suppose you'll do this for a living?" Clara questioned after a few minutes, shrugging to add, "I don't suppose it's something you could do for too long – wouldn't it wear on you?"

He laughed then, nodding, "Usually we're sitting in that chair, tapping through a list, making a note here and there if someone's heart rate spikes, or if their brain waves become erratic." His hand waved about, "And then there's the mountain of irrelevant paperwork that gets scanned in..."

"So it's not actually normal to enter the dream, interact with clients," she surmised.

John stared – if he answered incorrectly, she could be at the Institute the next day filing a complaint against him and then... and then she would know who he was. He shook his head and told her honestly, "We enter dreams quite frequently, but generally no, we don't interact with clients. Unless children are involved – in which case we are prompted to examine their well-being."

"In case an adult is being abusive within the dream state?"

Nodding slowly, John explained, "Sometimes parents use it as a means of fulfilling shared custody, sometimes parents use it as a means to hide their indiscretions just as other adults might, except between two consenting adults, we're told to turn away unless one party is actively refusing the advances, when there's a child involved," he watched her nose wrinkle in disgust, "You understand, it's our responsibility to step in on their behalf. To ensure their safety and/or terminate the connection."

Bowing her head, Clara was nodding, "So Mr. Smith isn't wooing anyone, he's merely concerned about Maddie."

He watched her take a long breath and then empty her wine glass in a gulp, and he frowned, asking her curiously, "Which is it you're offended by, Clara?"

She laughed, bringing her eyes up to meet his, to see the question there before she waved a hand and told him honestly, "It's been a really long time since anyone gave a damn about me and my daughter the way he has and yeah, I guess there was some part of me that thought maybe, if there was a real man behind that stupid face in those dreams, maybe I could get to know him, let him know he's appreciated."

John felt his chest constrict as her wine glass was re-filled and she took another long drink, laughing quietly at her food before cutting into it further to continue eating. The conversation about Mr. Smith, John knew, was done, and so he nodded to himself and tried to inhale, taking in just enough breath to tell her simply, "I'll relay the message."

She flustered and smiled, asking, "Just, leave out the personal bit, maybe? Just let him know he's appreciated and one day I'd like to thank him, in person?"

Clara watched the way he wordlessly nodded again, and she registered the sad smile that fluttered over his thin lips just before he turned his attention to his food. Was he insulted, she thought, because it seemed as though he were. She finished her food and a third glass of wine as she listened to him began to detail the process of connecting to dreams, without the aid of drawings, and Clara watched him as he rubbed his eyes and laughed, telling her he sometimes found it difficult to sleep outside of that world.

He'd slipped into an odd monotone for the rest of the night and avoided her eyes, she noticed, as though she'd said something wrong. In truth, he was thinking about how differently she'd feel if she knew it was him. There wouldn't be a dinner; he'd have been written up the day before for fraternization; he'd be suspended to desk duties for a time. He'd be pushed into early retirement from the Institute like so many others.

John paid the check and he watched her stand, saw the way her steps faltered as she pushed her arms through the sleeves of her dark jacket and he ushered her out towards the car park, observed her look around in confusion before she lifted her purse to point.

"I came on the tube," she told him.

"You're in no condition to ride the tube alone," he uttered.

She smirked, "But riding alone with you is safe?"

Dropping his head, John stared at his feet and he gripped at his keys, then told her bluntly, "You're nearly thirty years my junior and I have more tact and self-composure than the lot of your generation – either you get in this car or I order you a cab, but I'll not be letting you ride the tube home on your own."

Clara plucked open the door to the passenger side and she fell into the car with a muted exhale, waiting in the silence as he stood and fumbled with his keys on the other side of the car, looking momentarily to the sky. She wondered about him then, because she had no doubts his intentions were pure, but for just a second she considered that maybe the man in her dreams was just that and she should consider the one climbing into the driver's seat. And then she giggled, gaining his attention as he turned the engine over smoothly.

"My vehicle amuses you?" He questioned lightly, a smile easily on his face.

Pointing to him, Clara admitted, "You amuse me, John."

Gesturing at her seatbelt as he secured his own, he laughed to himself and repeated the words softly, as though they were some sort of joke, and then he drove, asking her for her address. Clara noticed he drove, not the vehicle, and she realized quite suddenly that the tremors that generally accompanied her in a car ride were absent. Eyes narrowing to look him over, she questioned whether it was the drink or the driver and she hadn't reached a definitive answer when he pulled up to the curb in front of her building, but she was too enraptured by him to notice.

The length of his face and the way it was lined. There was a lifetime behind that face, a whole plethora of events and feelings and stories he could tell her and she smiled gently at the thought of him and his hands. He had a way of curling his fingers or pointing at the air when he spoke. Sometimes he grasped his hands together, wrapping them tightly not unlike Mr. Smith, but John moved less fluidly. He moved with purpose, sharply and pointedly, and she looked away from the hands gripping the steering wheel to his face again.

To the frown of concentration that lifted when he looked her way. If it were any other man, she might think there were some ulterior motive hidden behind that quick shift in expression, but she somehow knew that's just how quickly and complex his emotions were. He'd been lost in some thought, staring out at the street, and when he'd looked to her, that thought had simply lifted away, replaced by the knowledge that she was still sitting there, perhaps waiting for something.

Clara watched the way those thick grey brows wrestled with his thoughts. Maybe he thought she had one last question and her hesitation was finding the wording, rather than the lazy studying of his face she was absorbed in. She smiled, imagining he had so many wonderful thoughts in that old mind of his and before she knew what she'd done, she had kissed him. It was a light peck, one she pulled away from quickly, dropping back with a gasp and a muttered apology before she fumbled with the door handle to open her car door, turning with an awkward wave before disappearing into the building.


	13. Chapter 13

Amy's laughter echoed through the phone as Clara held a hand to her face and moaned in frustration. She'd tossed the dress aside as she'd walked into her flat and she'd shouted at it until the foolishness of the action registered. Then she'd changed into the most sensible nightie she owned, and she'd buried herself into her sheets, her skin red hot with an embarrassment she hadn't felt since her school days. And she'd called her friend to detail the entire night, listening and answering the most ridiculous of questions and having to explain that she'd picked a nice dress because she wanted to look nice, not because she wanted to impress John.

Clara was a mum to a five-year-old child in a coma; she was a school teacher too busy with work – it wasn't as though she had some assortment of dresses for dates she didn't have time to have. Ah-ha, her friend had shouted through the phone – and Clara could easily see one long thin pale finger thrust triumphantly into the air – so it was a date.

It was stupid to deny it. It worked like one and it went along like one and it ended like one and that's when her friend had suggested that she should have suggested he come up for coffee. Of course, Clara knew what Amy had meant and she'd immediately shrieked in defiance, "I'm not letting him dip his beans in my percolator!"

And the laughter had begun.

Clara had to admit, it was a bit amusing. She'd sent John a text with a simple apology and he'd texted her back ten minutes later – presumably when he'd arrived home – to let her know no apology was necessary. Because he was polite and proper, and he'd never want her to know his feelings were hurt in any way. Clara decided she would leave it at that. At least that's what she told Amy; at least that's what she told herself.

"But really, come on," Amy prompted, "What did it feel like? You haven't had a good snog, or a snog of any sort, since Danny, right?"

"Can we not talk about Danny, please?" Clara whined.

Her friend's eye roll was palpable as she responded, "Fine, we won't discuss your failed relationships," and then Amy prompted, "Come on, Clara – I'm lying here with my legs in the air trying to rush sperm to an egg, humor me."

Wrinkling her nose, Clara fluffed the sheets in front of her with her free hand and shrugged, telling her plainly, "It was just a quick kiss, barely qualifies as a snog."

"But what was it like?" Amy pleaded.

Clara growled and considered it a moment before admitting, "It was nice, but…"

"But he's older," the other woman finished.

"He's older," Clara sighed. "And that doesn't matter – I mean, it shouldn't matter right? But…"

"But the bow tie man you properly snogged in your dream," Amy sang.

Smiling involuntarily, Clara looked to the machine at her left and she bit her lip, knowing it was the weekend and Mr. Smith had gone home. For a moment she was surprised to find herself thinking she didn't want to chance some other stranger entering her dream with Maddie. It came as a shock because it was more than she didn't want to see someone else, rather than being concerned for her daughter's confusion. And then, Mr. Smith had been the first person in a year to even enter her dream.

She let out a small humph and Amy asked quietly, "What is it?"

"It's just," she began softly, "John made it seem like we're just lines on a page. Each one of us is just some box in the system filled with heart rates and brain waves. It's just a job, just paperwork and procedures and things to check off some list."

"So?" Amy stated.

"So what made bow t… Mr. Smith," she corrected, "What made him come back?"

Her friend giggled.

Shaking her head, Clara looked to the time and then she groaned, "Amy, it's nearing midnight, have you fermented enough yet?"

The noise of disgust that erupted through the phone made Clara pull it away momentarily and when she brought it back, Amy was telling her, "Don't ever put it like that again, makes it sound like I'm a bad beer."

Managing a laugh, Clara pointed out, "A few moments ago, I was coffee, so…"

"And you're both lovely," she heard Rory state as she felt the rush of warmth run up her neck, knowing the man had been privy to the entire conversation via, presumably, speakerphone.

"I'm going to call it a night," Clara told them both, "Rory, please give your wife a hug for me."

"On it," he responded lightly and she heard Amy laugh lightly.

And then the woman told her confidently, "You should call him again, this John of yours. He's definitely a second chance sort of date."

Her smile was automatic and she nodded slowly, chuckling as she told Amy, "We'll see." Then she barked at her friend playfully, "Go to sleep, it's good for the baby making."

"How would you know," Amy gruffly responded, more – Clara knew – out of frustration over the process than anything else.

Eyes closing, Clara sighed, "Maddie was not an accident, Amy."

There was a moment of silence in which Clara knew her friend was contemplating her words and she realized she'd never told her about that. They'd been married six months and her husband had told her confidently one morning, watching her pop her birth control with a cup of water and a slice of toast, "Chuck it, Clara, let's have a baby."

She shook away the sound of his laughter and her surprised, "Really? I thought we should wait? Are you sure?" because it was hard, thinking on her husband's lighter side. The side that came before the downfall; the side she'd fallen in love with.

Listening to the almost inaudible pop of Amy's lips coming apart, Clara stopped her oncoming words with a quick, "Goodnight, guys," and jammed a finger into the screen of her mobile, settling it on the nightstand before staring at it and then shifting her eyes to the DeepDream Institute's box sitting patiently beside it, waiting for her to lift those nodules to press into her temples.

Clara hesitated before pressing the one to her chest as she dropped down into her sheets. Her heart would be beating erratically now and she knew it would never connect on that pulse. Taking several long breaths, she thought about Maddie's giggle and the little girl's dark eyes peering up at her happily as she told her about the beach and how the ocean went on forever and ever and she smiled, pushing the nodule into a spot in her chest before closing her eyes and waiting for sleep to take her.

She was surprised by how immediate it felt, the flash of white light of the waiting room to the odd silence of a hospital where she saw her daughter up on a step stool, peering into a set of windows. Clara knew immediately where they were and she swallowed her fear to bridge the distance between them, watching her daughter's curious face looking in on the babies that cried and wiggled and slept in the basinets lined up just inside.

"I was a baby once," Maddie offered with a shrug, "Do you remember it?"

Her eyes didn't lift up to hers as she expected them to and Clara was left staring down at the little girl as she nodded and then smiled, admitting, "I remember the first time I laid eyes on you – you screamed, so angry at the cold world you'd been delivered into – and I just laughed because I knew I had a strong daughter." She touched her child's soft hair, fingers combing through it lightly as she looked over the babies and stated, "I was so very proud of you, from that very first meeting."

Her daughter laughed lightly, then lifted a finger to tap on the window. "Will you have another baby, mummy?"

For a moment she remained silent, then she peered down to ask, "Maddie, did you hear me talking about having a baby?"

The girl finally looked up, telling her on a whisper, "Of course I did, mummy. I always hear you."

Clara nodded slowly, then reached down, feeling Maddie's fingers curl around hers, and she hopped off the stool so they could make their way through the maze of hallways towards the lifts, riding them down silently before moving out into the car park where Maddie spotted a playground and broke away, rushing towards it with a shriek of amusement. She smiled, looking to her girl climbing the steps rapidly to throw herself down a long red slide before dusting off her hands against each other and making her way to a smaller blue one.

Walking to a set of swings to sit, Clara watched Maddie rush about. It reminded her of weekend afternoons spent at a park near their old apartment building. If she drove by it, she imagined she could find this exact park, the reconstruction driven by her daughter's memory of it, and she sighed because she missed feeling Amy on the swing next to her while Rory stood and anxiously monitored the girls from a closer space, always hovering and drifting around the playground as the girls ran about.

Clara missed seeing Melody climbing her way to the highest point as Maddie pointed and shouted up at her, "Get down, Mels, you'll fall!"

Now Maddie glanced up at that spot, giving Clara an apprehensive look as the girl considered it. Clara wanted to shout at her to go on, to climb as far and fast as she could. She didn't need to be afraid to fall here, the worst that could happen was a disconnect, though Clara would be lying if she didn't admit she'd wonder which of them would cause it. She thought on Mr. Smith and how he'd been insistent he ask Maddie how she was feeling and she looked to the ground, wondering if it were possible to scare her awake. It seemed like such an impossible idea, and they'd had their fair share of bad dreams together.

But what if...

The thoughts were instantly pushed away as the girl landed against her legs, pushing her back lightly with a giggle as she shook her head and told her plainly, as though reading her thoughts, "I'm asleep, mummy."

Clara tried to laugh, saying quickly, "We're wide awake, at the playground, sweet pea."

But Maddie took a breath, determination settling on her small face, and she declared, "I know this is a dream."

The little girl sighed and waited and Clara thought about the repercussions. They'd always told her Maddie would think it were real. She would think the disconnected times were the times she was sleeping and dreaming, but what if they were wrong? What if Clara had been wrong not to tell her? She tried to slow her heart rate, watching as Maddie rubbed a finger over her nose, smearing it with a light line of dirt, and she questioned slowly, "Maddie, do you know where we are?"

"I'm asleep, mummy, I won't wake up," Maddie explained sadly.

She brushed one hand over her cheek and held her chin, and then she hesitantly asked her the one question she'd avoided asking her all along, "Why won't you wake up, sweetie?"

Shrugging, Maddie responded, "I'm afraid."

"Afraid to wake up?" Clara laughed.

Suddenly the girl looked around, as though searching, and Clara could see the panic in her eyes. The winds shifted, picking up and growing colder and Clara looked up to the darkening skies and she jumped against the clap of thunder. Maddie hugged at her legs, her small hands gripping her skirt and she could hear her whimpering something into her thigh. She took a long breath, eyes narrowing against her hair, whipping around her head, and she pushed off the swing, lifting Maddie easily into her arms and frowning as she felt her thin limbs wrapping tightly around her, fingernails digging into Clara's skin.

Terrified of some unseen thing.

"Maddie," she stated firmly, "There is nothing to be afraid of here."

But Maddie called back, "No, he can still find us."

Shaking her head, Clara looked around, considering the nightmares of small children. The bogeymen who haunted their dreams and sent them clamoring for their parents beds in the middle of the night. Did her daughter have nightmares when they weren't connected? She tried to remember if she'd had them before, but the little girl only approached her bedside with a smile and a simple, "Mummy, can I sleep with you?"

Now she gripped her daughter, trying desperately to change those cooling winds stinging her skin through her leggings and she thought about the Doctor and how he'd told them they could do anything. Maybe only some people could, she thought, remembering John's words – something about his brain wave activity had lured the DeepDream Institute to him with a job – perhaps it was his ability to manipulate the dream state. Maybe Clara didn't have that, but if she didn't, then her daughter did.

She moved towards the playground and turned, sitting on one of the steps as she pried her daughter off her, seeing the paleness of her skin, so much like it was in the real world, and she frowned, watching Maddie's ragged breaths and looking around, waiting for someone to disconnect. Why, she considered, hadn't the dream disconnected? Clara shook her head and pressed her forehead to her daughters and she told her firmly, "Maddie, this is your dream – you can change this; you can make all of this go away."

"But he's here," she cried.

"No one is here but us," Clara responded on a choked laugh.

She felt the warm forehead against hers shift with a refusal to accept that fact and then Clara heard a voice she hadn't heard in so long, booming over the winds and the thunderstorm threatening to rain down on them. It rattled through her mind and came with a small scream of terror from the child she held.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Clara bolted upright in bed, tearing the sheets off her body with a shout, one that burned at her dry throat and rumbled past the pounding of her heart. She swallowed painfully and then the shrill ring of her phone sent a shower of ice through her body and she swung an arm around, landing her palm roughly against the smooth receiver to lift it to her hear, gasping into the phone.

A nasally voiced woman drawled, "This is Operator 202 calling from the DeepDream Institute, your connection with user Madeline Oswald has been disconnected for health concerns..."

Before the woman could complete the sentence, Clara shouted angrily, "Was there another user connected?"

"Ma'am?" Came the confused response.

Closing her eyes and letting her legs roll over the side of the bed to hang limp there, she repeated as she tugged the nodules free from her now trembling body, "Was there another user besides myself and my daughter."

She heard typing before a solid, "No, Ms. Oswald – only you and Madeline Oswald were connected."

Clara ignored all rational thought in her mind as she asked crossly, "Is it possible another user could bypass your system?"

"No, Ms. Oswald, that would be impossible," came the response, and Clara was glad she heard concern and not amusement in the tone of the operator on the line. "Any third parties created within the dream would have been a manifestation of memories from either you or the other user involved," she explained calmly. And then there came the sigh, the one that came with a simple reading of the notes on file – the ones that said her daughter was in a coma; the ones that said this was a delicate case – and the Operator lamented, "I'm very sorry, Ms. Oswald, but you're going to have to wait at least two hours before re-connecting to Madeline..."

Interrupting her, Clara told her quietly with a nod, mind beginning to process the fact that she was awake and her questions were completely illogical, "I know, I know, I'm sorry about the shouting, it was..." she trailed, not knowing the best way to explain before she told her simply, "It was a terrible nightmare is all."

The woman gave her the standard disclaimer about nightmares and health issues and concerns and Clara nodded, not really hearing, because she was already standing, her mind racing. She set the phone down with a quiet good bye and moved to grab a pair of jeans from her closet, yanking them over her shaky legs before dropping her soaked nightie atop the dress to pull a thick maroon jumper over her body, going towards her front door with her keys held tightly in her hands.

Clara moved towards her car and she fell inside, turning the engine over and swinging the car out of the space and onto the main road, her fingers curled around the wheel tightly as she went. Five minutes passed before she realized she was driving and she felt the first of her tears roll over her cheeks in a shock of warmth as she rolled to a stop at a red light, trying to calm her body out of the rigid state it had shifted into. It was impossible, she kept reminding herself.

She set the car into a spot surrounded by emptiness and turned it off, for a moment listening to the clicking and hissing of a hot engine settling in the frozen air and she stared up at the hospital, seeing the dimly lit windows here and there, the rooms of patients awakened in the dead of night for one exam or another. Clara reached for her purse, settled in the passenger seat and she walked briskly through the courtyard and in through those front doors, gaining an odd look from the security guard before she flashed her badge.

They always responded with a nod of sympathy.

Clara despised it, in spite of its honest intentions, because it meant they knew. They knew she was going to spend as many nights as it took for her 'terminal' case to terminate. She was crying before she stepped into the lift and she was sobbing when she emerged, but it quieted as she saw the bustle of activity just beyond the doors to her daughter's ward. Eyes wide, she felt her steps rushing forward and she swiped her badge, tapping it lightly against her hand as she waited for the green light and those huge doors to swing open.

Her heart had begun to pound and for a moment she thought maybe she'd woken up. Clara moved towards her daughter's room, into and out of which several nurses were moving, and she felt her breathing quicken at the thought that maybe that nightmare had been it, and maybe she'd be sitting up in bed moping about the IV's and the tube in her stomach and the silly hospital gown she wore. And then she took in the blank expressions and Clara felt her head go cold.

She stood, just outside of that door, with her eyes trained blankly on a spot on the ground. That nightmare might have been the end in an entirely different way and the last thing her daughter would have experienced in her short life was her mother's inability... A hand gripped her shoulder lightly and she gasped, eyes popping open to look into the fatigued face of a woman who nodded and ushered her inside.

"She had a seizure, not ten minutes ago," the woman informed her. "But her vitals have stabilized. She's doing well, Ms. Oswald."

Someone continued talking, but Clara only heard the steady beeps of her daughter's heart. For a moment she looked to those red and blue lines jumping up and down regularly on a screen to her left, but then she neared the bed and took Maddie's cool hand within her own, bringing it up to kiss her fingers as she brushed her long bangs way from her eyes. She nodded and looked to the man speaking.

"Can someone bring me a pair of scissors," she smiled, "My daughter needs a haircut."

The room went silent and she noticed people walking out. People, she knew, who didn't understand why she bothered. She waited, looking at the remaining sets of eyes still on her, and the woman who had greeted her nodded and told her quietly, "Yes, Ms. Oswald," before she moved out into the hall.

"Ms. Oswald," the man remaining called, waiting for her to meet his eyes. "This is, of course, at your approval, but we'd like to disconnect her from the box for..."

"No," Clara spat, cutting him off. He began to speak again and Clara closed her eyes, uttering quietly as she took the scissors from the woman who re-entered the room, "Unless you have any medical information about Maddie's condition, please, just leave us alone."

The two left the room and Clara looked to her daughter, calmly breathing in and out as usual, and she sighed, fingers drifting through her thick bangs before she began to slowly trim away at them. She set the scissors down when she was done and she lifted herself carefully onto the bed, lying next to her daughter and resting her head against her own outstretched arm, her right hand landing atop Maddie's chest to feel the slight thumps of each heartbeat weakly against her palm.

"Mummy needs a bit of sleep," she whispered, seeing the sky lightening just outside, "How about we rest like we used to, huh, baby girl." Clara kissed her cheek and she ignored the nurse who came in to check on the IV bag and type a few lines into a computer before she departed without a single word. Clara blinked away tears and she heard the door open again, listened to her father's sigh of relief.

"They called me when they couldn't get a hold of you," he told her. "Car gone, flat empty, and you weren't answering your mobile," he continued. "Don't know how much more of this I can be expected to take, Clara," he finally spat honestly.

Without glancing up at him, she muttered, "Then go."

She felt his hands wrap firmly around her right knee as he responded lightly, "What happened?"

"Seizure," she stated.

"Clara," he breathed.

She shrugged, exhaustion creeping into her muscles and through to her bones. And she stated, voice breaking with tears, "Daddy, I'm tired too," and with that admission, she slipped a hand around her daughter's waist and pulled her gently into her chest, kissing at her neck and nestling her face there, breathing warmly across the girl's skin. "I just want her to wake up and shout at me to stop smothering her; I just want everything to go back to normal, but it can't, ok, it can't," she whimpered.

He gave her knee a squeeze and then he shifted, leaning to press a hard kiss into her temple before gently laying one to his granddaughter's forehead and he sighed, "Get some sleep, I'll go for breakfast and wake you in an hour."

She nodded and felt him drift away. Clara heard the door shut quietly behind him and she told her daughter simply, "Your daddy cannot get you here, Maddie, and he cannot get you in your dreams, I promise you that, baby. He cannot get us anymore."


	14. Chapter 14

"You look like shit," Amy stated plainly, entering the classroom at the end of Monday.

Clara managed a small smile as she continued to stare down at the paperwork she'd collected from students and she took a long breath, turning her eyes to the woman slowly walking towards the desk. With a tilt of her head, she offered, "Shit on coffee, thank you very much."

Nodding slowly, Amy didn't laugh. She barely smiled. Leaning into the desk, she looked Clara over with a small nod and then asked, "How's she doing?"

Shrugging, Clara responded, "Alive, breathing, still comatose for the foreseeable future."

They remained silent as Clara gathered the papers together into a neat pile and then lifted herself to stand, looking down at it all, feeling, for just a moment, how very pointless it all seemed; knowing how dangerous that thought was. Amy was thinking of some kind words to say, but Clara knew she'd never really been good at it and she smiled up at her, shaking her head and reaching for her bag to shove the work into to take home.

She'd have a glass of wine; she'd turn on the radio to some soft music she hated; she'd concentrate on it there with some random dish her father would bring up. Because the man hadn't left her side until very early that morning, when she'd silently walked out the door after a too-long hug that left her late for work.

"Don't worry on it, Amy," she told her friend.

Body deflating some, the other woman responded sadly, "Clara, don't tell me not to worry on it – you send me some cryptic text in the middle of a Sunday about Maddie having a seizure and you tell me she's fine and then you don't answer your mobile." She paused, hand coming up to stop Clara from leaving to gasp, "What the bloody hell happened?"

Shrugging, Clara stated, "She had a seizure, she's fine – that's all I know."

"The hell it is," her friend accused.

Lower lip trembling, Clara admitted, "She had a nightmare about her father."

The hand that had been at Clara's shoulder slipped away, moving to Amy's right temple as her left hand lifted up to her left, both pressing fingers as her eyes closed and then they fell away and she argued, "Isn't that something you think is important?" She shook her head, "Clara, you connected her to that machine and she had a nightmare about the man who almost killed you both, and you don't think that's important."

"Of course I think it's important, Amy, but..." she trailed.

"But if you tell anyone, they'll take the machine away," Amy spat. "And your time with her is more important than her health."

"That's not fair," Clara stated, jaw clenching as she felt her body tense. "That nightmare could have nothing to do with her seizure – I was warned this could happen with the trauma. Besides, she could have had that nightmare at any time; if anything, my being there prevented it from being worse." Clara nodded to the look Amy was giving her. "She was scared and I was there to comfort her. Who knows what might have happened if I hadn't been there..." Her words became mere breaths as she considered it, taking a step back towards her chair as her legs went weak underneath her.

She felt Amy's hands at her shoulders, urging her into the seat before she knelt in front of her, hands gripping hers firmly. "Clara?" She called.

Eyes closing, Clara nodded and she took a long breath, explaining, "I'm fine."

The silence that greeted her statement froze her heart and for a moment she thought she might have passed out, but then she opened her eyes to find Amy's staring up at her, filled with concern. "Ask your Doctor," Amy told her simply.

Laughing lightly, Clara shook her head, "He'll just say I need medication, or a vacation..."

"No," Amy interrupted, "The one in those dreams." With an eye roll, she added, "The idiot with the bow tie – ask him about what happened." Then she groaned, "You're not going to disconnect Maddie – and honestly, I do understand why, I truly do – but you need to tell someone about this; you need someone to tell you the truth about what's going on and maybe, just maybe, you'll listen to him." Then she smirked, "Or you could ask John."

Clara watched her friend look away, saw the pink dotting her cheeks, and she smiled, turning to put a hand down on her bag filled with homework. She nodded slowly and asked, "Do you think I'm hurting her by doing this?"

"Does it matter what I think?" Amy questioned, eyes narrowing as she looked back at her.

Nodding slowly, Clara stated gently, "Yes, Amy, of course it does. It's just hard when people tell you to take the one link you still have to your only child and sever it," she nodded again and then cried, "She's all I have, and she could be gone in the blink of an eye and I don't want to miss any more of her life on rules or questions or worries..."

Shaking her head, Amy interrupted, telling her confidently, "That spitfire of yours is going to wake up one day, Clara, and all of this," she glanced to her left before aiming her stare back at her with a smile, "All of this is going to be the dream."

Clara laughed, watching as Amy waited, and she finally nodded her head, sniffling against the tears that rolled over her cheeks. The other woman pulled her to stand and tugged her into a welcome hug, hands rubbing at her back as Clara took several long breaths. When she pulled her away, Amy reached for the bag on the desk and she handed it to Clara with a quick nod of her head and a glance towards the door.

"Go home, have the wine I know you'll have, listen to terrible music because I know you will, eat your dad's really bad lasagna because I know he'll bring it, and grade this nonsense – try not to lose your mind," she sighed with a tilt of her head before continuing, "Then go into that dream state and drill this Doctor of yours, sadly in the interrogation sense and not in the sense that you truly need," Clara lightly backhanded her elbow, "And then enjoy your girl." She shifted and hugged her with one arm, ushering her out into the hallway, "Meanwhile, I have to go home, pee on a stick, and then watch Rory suffer for two minutes."

Bowing her head, Clara glanced up slightly to ask, "Doesn't make you suffer? Just a tiny bit?"

Amy smiled, "Nah," she shrugged as they reached the front doors and pushed through, "I'll get pregnant when I do, if I do, and we'll enjoy it – no sense in allowing myself to get worked up about it."

They moved through the few cars left and Clara sighed, "I wish I had your bravery."

Stopping at Clara's car, Amy sighed and then growled, "Clara Oswald, you're the bravest woman I've ever met and if I ever hear you doubt that again, I'll... hurt you... by..." she considered before settling on, "Disorganizing your classroom when you're not looking!"

Clara laughed. It was a healthy hearty laugh that lasted far too long and felt good in her lungs, and she opened her car and fell in with a final glance up at her friend, who smiled and then walked away. Go home, get stuff done, she told herself, and then find the Doctor. For a moment, as she turned the car on and wrestled with whether or not she should drive herself – she let the car do the work – and then she thought about what he was doing in that moment. Probably getting ready for his shift, or maybe he went in early, prepared for the day. She imagined he'd get a notification about the disconnect.

She frowned, wondering what he'd think of that.

Of course, he'd been furious.

"What do you mean, disconnect due to nightmare?" John barked at the screen as he unbuttoned the top few buttons on his grey shirt, rolling up his sleeves, and tapping at the screen. He growled because, as usual, it offered no other useful information.

Their heart rates had begun to climb, first Madeline's and then Clara's, and then Madeline had disconnected, her brain wave activity spiking suddenly in a way he knew wasn't ordinary. A split second later, Clara's connection had been cut, and she was notified. John frowned, rubbing at his brow with his left hand, and then he quickly popped the nodules on as he glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing eleven. She might be on, he considered; she might not, he pondered.

"Either way," he told no one, "On the clock."

He laid back, twisting the computer away from him as he closed his eyes and took a long breath, concentrating on the ticks of a second smaller, older clock that sat next to his head. It would lull him to sleep, it always did, and soon he was simply existing in a small flat, looking around at the worn furniture – handed down in some fashion, he knew – and he heard the laughter that echoed out from a back room.

"Clara?" He called, then he added, "Madeline?"

There was an exaggerated set of gasps and then he heard the simple drumming of little feet across carpeted flooring and soon he was looking at the tiny girl with the dimpled smile, landing heavily against his knees. The Doctor's knees, he considered. The gangly idiot he'd dreamed up to make little girls like her more at ease with the presence of strangers in their dreams. She giggled, chin resting against his waist, all of her baby teeth gleaming up at him and she mouthed silently, "Hi."

He grinned and reached to brush her hair down at either side of her head, nothing more than a comfort for the girl, and he asked simply, "How are you feeling, Madeline?"

Her head shook slightly and she offered, "Nobody calls me Madeline except my Gran-Gran, and my mum when I'm in big trouble."

"Maddie then, is it," he prompted with a warm smile and a wiggle of his jaw, watching her nod enthusiastically. "Maddie, I'm so very sorry I wasn't here when you had your fright, are you alright?"

Nodding, she backed away slowly and he could see Clara approaching down the long hallway, tentatively nearing him with her hands grasped nervously together. The kiss, he remembered. The last time they'd been in that dream, she'd kissed him. His cheeks warmed at the memory, and he imagined she was anxious about how he'd respond now, a few days later. John thought about how she'd kissed him in the car Saturday night in the real world, about how delicate her lips had been – just as he'd remembered them from that dream – and he forced the memory from his mind, looking down at the innocent girl standing before him in a state of obvious concern.

"My daddy scared me," she offered. Then she whispered, "He's a monster."

Wrinkling his nose, he complained, "Don't like monsters, do we."

She shook her head and he could feel the pulse that sped up slightly. "Mummy says he can't get us here in the dream, is that true?"

For a moment he stared down at her curiously – she knew it was a dream, how could she possibly know it was a dream – and then he was tempted to look to Clara, but he knew if he did, the little girl wouldn't trust his answer. No child, in his experience, trusted the answer of an adult who had to consult another adult for the just right answer to give, especially if that other adult was their parent. John smiled as honestly as he could and he knelt before her, giving her stomach a small poke that made her giggle.

"Dreams are our safe place, Maddie, because dreams are like magic," he smiled when her eyes widened, looking so much like her mother, "In here, you're the magician and anything you want can happen, like with the kite. Do you remember the kite?" He waited for her nod to frown and explain, "You make the rules here with your mum, so anyone you don't want here, you can simply tell them to bugger off, and you know what?"

"What?" Maddie breathed in awe.

Waving a hand through the air, he smiled and responded, "Off they'll bugger."

The little girl giggled and then, quite unexpectedly, she threw her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder, and he felt the small sigh she released. Comforted, he knew. Enough to slow her pulse back to normal; enough, he could also feel, to calm the pulse of the woman now standing in front of him. Clara Oswald, he thought with a thumping of his own heartbeat, the impossible woman who made him fluster and feel in a way no one had in so very long.

"So, I click my heels and head on home," Clara teased lightly.

He began to stand, but the girl hadn't relinquished her grip, so he hoisted her up in his arms, holding her securely, saddened at the prospect that she'd never had a proper father figure in her life, and he smiled to Clara, watching her cheeks tint pink and seeing the tablet that appeared at his side, hovering in the air. She gestured at it and he nodded and he watched her take it, looking over the information on the small screen. Nothing, he knew, she didn't already know. She tapped at it with the stylus hooked to the side and she smiled.

"Didn't jot down our secret then," she told him politely.

"The kiss," he stated, brows lifting as he laughed, listening to Maddie's noise of disgust grumble out just beside his shoulder. "No, Clara, I presumed it was on accident. Unless you have grounds to find it inappropriate, I see no need to mention it to the company."

"Began by accident," she started, eyes trailing to the ground, and he knew what she was thinking – neither one of them did a thing to stop it before Maddie's exclamation. So while it began on accident, it most certainly wasn't one.

He frowned, wishing he could simply tell her who he was, but instead, he pushed a free hand through his flop of brown hair and he raised his chin to the flat, glancing around before questioning, "Your place, I imagine?"

The tablet vanished from her hands and she lifted them slightly before clapping them together, head turning to look around the space before nodding and agreeing, "Yeah, our place." Then she asked, "Do you want me to take her from you?"

John felt the little girl's embrace tighten, and he smiled, head bowing bashfully as he glanced up between thick bangs, telling Clara confidently, "It's alright, I've got her."

She seemed hesitant, but took a step to the side, body shifting away to look out at the space. Everything was autumn, he thought as he surveyed the room. A simple brown couch sat against the wall, adorned with a blood red throw and three pumpkin colored pillows, embroidered with yellow circles; curtains shielded the window that overlooked a field, the fabric, blocks of the same warm hues. He smiled, looking over the books that sat on a tall shelf, seeing the lower three were for children's pop-up books and fairy tales and occasionally a toy sat, propped between two; the others held a variety of novels and travel books, one shelf at the top was dedicated to teaching aids and children's psychology and leadership tombs, presumably recommended by the school.

She was a teacher, he knew – one of the few bits of information in her file. He smiled, imagining her in a classroom filled with screaming children and he felt the weight of the girl in his arms, knew she'd have been entering school not long after the accident. He wondered if she'd already had her daughter enrolled. John wondered if she took books to the hospital to read to her while she lay in her coma.

If his daughter had survived, he would have...

"What do you like to read, Mr. Smith?" Clara questioned, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Bits and bobs," he responded lightly. He grinned at her as she offered a set of pursed lips and a faux annoyance that made him laugh. "I love adventures," he heard Maddie giggle quietly. "Science fiction and far off lands, space travel and new planets and peoples." His eyes widened as he stated, "Exploring the vastness of the universe from the confines of home."

"Do you travel?" Clara asked, her eyes softening as she waited.

He shrugged, "On occasion." He thought about a beach in Hawaii he'd visited so many years ago. The rocky shoreline peppered in bright green moss, half covered in soft white sand, and he smiled when Clara gasped as the world dissolved around them and the crashing waves began to hiss their way back out into the ocean.

"Wicked," Maddie whispered, looking around at the new scenery, lifting herself up to get a better look as the sun began to warm their skin. "Like magic," the girl whispered. John set her down and she skipped off happily to take in the new scenery as Clara took a step closer to him.

"So you're the magician," she stated, grin set on her lips.

He shrugged, pressing his palms into his waist and rocking on his feet, jaw clenched in a tight smile. "I'm whatever you'd like me to be."

"You know," Clara began loudly over the rush of another wave, "That's a dangerous offer."

He narrowed his eyes and teased, "Suppose I'm a dangerous fellow then."

"She doesn't know what it's like to have a father she's not afraid of," Clara told him plainly. "I'd be lying if I told you it didn't cross my mind just then – that someone like you could fit that bill." Then she laughed to herself and continued, "It's not that I want you to be that; I know that's asking far too much," she met his waiting stare, "But if she ever wakes up, I'd like for her to not be so afraid – I'm scared that's all she'll ever be in the real world after what happened."

John watched her scratch at her neck nervously, her eyes drifting to find Maddie hopping from a flat, moss covered rock, onto a thick wet mound of sand with a squeal of delight. "Help her not be so afraid," John sighed, "I can help with that, but I have to ask, Clara, are you afraid?"

"Am I afraid?" She questioned, hand coming up to settle against her chest, and John grinned, feeling that pulse underneath her hands as easily as she could. "What would I have to be afraid of?"

He took a step closer and watched her flush with color as the fear seeped into her eyes as he told her, "You're afraid to fall in love again. Afraid that if you do while Maddie remains in a coma, that you'd be betraying her by continuing your life; afraid that if you do and she wakes up, that you'll never find someone good enough for her, all the while neglecting what's good for you." Shaking his head, John told her softly, "Are you afraid of getting close to someone again? Afraid of letting them in and allowing them to care for you in the way you don't seem to understand you deserve?"

Clara was searching him, those wide eyes trying to find the crack in his stare – the one that divulged the joke, the weakness, the flaw, but she only found concern. And maybe, John willed, a twinge of the hope he had for her as she asked hoarsely, "Do you plan to help me to?"

"Help Maddie overcome her fear of men; help Clara overcome her fear of... the same?" He waved a hand, "Two birds with one stone – easily done."

She smiled then, nodding and then jerking when her daughter landed against her right thigh. "Howso?"

Turning his gaze to the little girl now giggling up at him as he pointed, he asked, "Maddie, would it be alright if, instead of just checking in on you, if every so often I came and spent the day with you and your mother?"

Maddie's tongue came out, pressed tightly between her lips as she thought, and he laughed when she finally nodded and asked, "Could we go back home now? Mummy and I were playing tea party with my dolls and I like the beach, but Mrs. Moffat and her friends are probably missing us."

John laughed easily, straightening and dropping his head back, feeling his hair flutter across his forehead on a breeze, and then he snapped his fingers and they were popped back into the comforting warmth of that flat they'd left. Maddie gave a shout, and he heard her beginning to stomp about in a circle just before Clara cleared her throat and he looked back down at her, grin still evident on his lips.

"Will you be staying tonight?" She asked shyly.

He shook his head, "You need time with your daughter tonight – but I'll be by again another night, I promise you that," he pointed at Maddie, "I'd like to meet Mrs. Moffat and her friends."

Nodding enthusiastically, the girl ran off down the hallway, leaving a fading set of sandy footprints on the dark carpet as she went, and John looked back to Clara, who smirked at the floor. "Spending a whole night with the client, not risqué at all," she stated.

"Only if the client wants to do something risqué," he teased, and he saw her neck go red before he laughed and told her quietly, "Clara, the kiss was no accident, but I don't intend to overstep anytime soon."

She smirked shyly and nodded, looking up at him again to ask, "So you'll be back around, no tablets or questions, just quality time – that's your grand plan to help us?"

Shrugging, he shook his head lightly and frowned, stating simply, "Yes."

"Well then," she sighed before lifting a hand, "Off you pop."

And with a satisfied smile, he did.


	15. Chapter 15

Twenty seven other clients went through his mind that night, or rather, he went through theirs. Twenty seven sets of observations, mostly from a distance, and twenty seven scribbles of notes about their vitals in their files. Twenty seven little remarks; three disconnects and two naughty deeds seen and seven family reunions and nine couples on long distance dates and six lonely people, staring at their partner's good time, shrugging away that other person's ignorance of their state of melancholy.

Pulling the plugs off his temples and feeling his stomach grumble, he remained seated for a few moments, listening to others shuffling quietly down the hallway, making their way towards homes where they'd greet families and eat meals and kiss children goodbye for schooling or small jobs. Where they'd hug spouses and play with pets and nap away the afternoon hours before greeting those same people as they arrived home. John stared at the ceiling, a memory from so long ago playing out in a fog in his mind.

"Daddy, you're home early!" His daughter had his unruly waves, light brown as his had been before the grey began to eat away at it, and she had his bright eyes, atop which thankfully curved her mother's tamer brows. The weight and warmth of her against his side sat in his cells and he touched the spot lightly with a sigh.

"Rose, we need to talk."

He'd been laid off, alongside so many others. Mergers and cutbacks and slashed budgets. All spoken in hushed whispers before she'd hugged him, kissed the side of his face tenderly, and told him confidently, "We'll be alright, John."

Shaking his head, he thought about Clara. About how long it'd been since she'd had any sense of normality in her life because he knew, even before the accident that put her daughter in the coma, she'd battled her way out of that relationship with the girl's father. Her file listed no contact information, not even a name – and he'd noted that Oswald wasn't a borrowed name, but her own birth-given surname passed down from her father, and passed on to her daughter – and he wondered how she might react if he asked her. Taking a long breath, he reached up to pluck the remaining nodule from his chest and he buttoned his shirt just as he heard Jack's laugh coming down the hallway.

"No," he stated firmly when he saw him twist into the room stealthily.

Hands lifting, Jack responded on a groan, "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to ask if I saw Clara again."

There was a pause, and then a simple, "Clara."

"No," John repeated.

"Come on," Jack scoffed. "You kiss her in this dream, as this idiot you made up, raising your flag to half-staff – something, quite honestly, I didn't think could happen to you – and then you don't want to talk about her one bit?" He frowned as John stood and pulled his jacket on, reaching for his long petticoat. "You're going to tell me you didn't think about her over the weekend; didn't enter her dream to talk to her once today." And to the lack of reply, Jack waved a hand and told him quietly, "John, I saw her file this morning, she had a nasty disconnect..."

Raising a finger, John clenched his jaw, and he watched as Jack pushed off the doorframe to stand there, solemnly staring back. He knew the moment he explained what had happened, the other man's composure would fall apart. He would laugh at him; he would ridicule him. He would do the same, John knew, to any of the others who worked there, and somehow the thought comforted him as he lowered his finger and shook his head.

"Not here," he told him simply.

Jack nodded and then tilted his head towards the exit, "Breakfast?"

Picking up his backpack and grabbing a wool hat to pull onto his head, John waited for the innuendo, but his friend merely waited patiently, gripping his own backpack in his hands, letting it swing slightly like a pendulum between his knees. Time, he thought, hearing the tiny ticks of that old clock, time was not on his side. Never did seem to be, he considered as he nodded to the other man and they made their way out of the building.

"Have you ever had an in-dream date?" John questioned once they were jogging down the steps in front of the building, heading towards a small cafe around the corner, passing the Italian restaurant that was closed in those early morning hours.

Jack laughed, "You know me, I've gone so far beyond in-dream dates." John watched his head tilt back in an airy laugh before he pointed and began with a smug grin, "Did I ever tell you about the time I..."

Waving a hand, John's eyes closed, and then he pushed into the little cafe, finding a booth near the back to settle into, plucking off his coat and hat to pile in a corner before sitting. He looked across the table at Jack, doing the same, and he knew. He knew that other man had taken things so far beyond what could be punishable by termination, but so long as the client didn't complain... wasn't that the rule? The customer is always right; the customer should always be happy.

"If there were an STD you could contract via the dream state," John told him lowly with a nod, "You would have it tenfold, I know, but I'm not talking about satisfying a woman – or man's – sexual desires, I mean spending time with someone in the dream."

Jack's chin dropped and he stated plainly, "Like an actual date."

Eyes closing momentarily, John's hands opened in front of him on the table and he repeated in frustration, "Yes, Jack, like an actual date, with an actual human you're actually fond of for more than the firmness of her breasts or the size of his..."

"I get it, John," his friend interrupted with a shake of his head, "I just don't understand – does she want to date you in the dreams?" Then he offered a crooked smile, "You old dog."

"Consider it therapy," he responded with an annoyed frown. He clasped his hands together and they ordered coffee and two plates off the menu at random, before he finally explained, "Her daughter is five, has been in a coma the past year and the nasty disconnect? It had to do with the father that put her there – so her mother is concerned the girl won't ever understand a proper father figure..."

"Whoa," Jack shot, hands coming out almost across the table, "She wants you to play daddy to her kid?"

He shook his head, "No, merely offer a masculine presence that isn't going to hurt her. Re-instilling trust, in a safe and controlled environment with a reasonable and unbiased man, for the child in the off chance there's ever an actual father figure around."

Head giving a round-about nod, Jack asked, "What's this got to do with a date?"

"Clara's just as afraid of the same. Could she ever be capable of being around another man without thinking the worse in him? Could she fall in love, re-marry, have other children... that sort of nonsense. A few dates within that same controlled environment could provide the answers she needs in a way that does little harm, given our understanding."

Considering his words, Jack looked to the mugs of coffee that were set in front of them, and he hugged his within his palms, wincing before telling the man across from him honestly, "This doesn't sound like a good idea."

"Why not? Figured you for the first high five – why wouldn't this work?" John asked, blinking roughly and then staring accusingly before stating, "Is it because I'm older?"

Face contorting into a look of discomfort, because John knew it was a sensitive subject for a man a lot older than he looked, Jack raised a hand and explained, "You're this handsome young man in her dreams and you're going to try to connect in a more personal way with her, and her daughter – think about this John, her _daughter_ – and you don't see how this could backfire?" And to John's shrug, Jack told him plainly, "I'm sure she's a sensible woman, but John, she could get attached to your dullness as some sort of safety net and then one day, out of the blue, she's going to show up and want to go on a real date.

Nodding, he said, "Then there'll be rules I'll set down to ensure that doesn't happen."

Jack laughed, replying, "You really don't know much about head-strong women."

"What's there to know," John gasped. "Like you said, she's sensible. She understands this is a facade; she knows it will one day end, whether she admits that or not." He shook his head, smiling up momentarily at the waitress who set their plates down, plucking the bacon from Jack's as Jack took his sausage.

"Ok, then," John stated, careful not to spit the bite he'd just taken. He nodded and continued, "And what happens when her daughter gets attached? I mean, I assume you're less rough around the edges in these dreams with this persona you made. Whether or not she wakes up, she's going to want to continue that bond, but if she wakes up and finds out she's been deceived..."

Lowering his eyes to the runny scrambled eggs in front of him, dotted here and there with cheese and ham, John knew his friend was right, and he sighed, answering him quietly, "Then I'll tell Clara – it's her daughter, she can decide what the girl sees."

He glanced up to find Jack staring at him curiously and he managed a weak smile before Jack pointed the remaining portion of sausage between his fingers and declared, "You're playing a dangerous game, John."

With that, he laughed and stated, "And isn't it you who's always going on about how I need a little more danger in my life?"

"This," Jack laughed, "This isn't what I meant." He cut into his slab of chicken covered in gravy and poked his fork through the air at him, dropping sauce across the table as he shook his head, "You know I meant a prostitute, or a gentleman's club if you want to be modest about it. This," he took a bite and chewed it around, swallowing with a wince before shaking his head again, "This is playing with a woman's heart; worse, it's playing with a child's."

"You think I should go back on my word."

Laughing, Jack spat, "Hell no, I want you to see it through to its disastrous end so you can tell me about it over drinks at the pub while we order this Clara a ridiculous bouquet of flowers as an apology and look for a new job for you." He thought a moment before leveling a stare at him and telling him, "You do know this is going to get you fired, right?"

"How could this get me fired – you've done worse, as you constantly and consistently remind," John pointed out, stabbing at his eggs and shoveling them into his mouth, feeling his stomach's growl of satisfaction in spite of the blandness of its reward.

Jack smiled, looking down at his plate and then out the window at early morning passerby's on their way to work and he turned to John, telling him honestly, "Because it's not the casual fuck that gets you fired John. Women want that, and they understand there aren't strings, so they take a guy like me, use me and toss me aside, and I'm perfectly ok with that because I know that's part of the job. But what you're suggesting – this plan you and Clara are hatching, theoretically for therapeutic purposes for her and her daughter, it creates something you're not going to so easily walk away from and neither is she," he picked up a strip of bacon, "John, you're creating some pseudo family, plugging missing pieces into your life, her life, her daughter's life, and you're doing it in disguise. And even if you toss that disguise aside..." he sighed before he finished, "It's not a good idea."

Letting his fork drop dully against his plate, John pressed his lips together and he watched as Jack shoved the strip of bacon into his mouth. He nodded slowly and leaned into the cushion of the booth, looking out at the people walking, the crowds beginning to pick up, the work day truly beginning for most people. He imagined Clara would be on her way to her job; he imagined she would be considering the same things. Swallowing roughly against his sudden lack of appetite, he locked his focus on a group of pigeons congregating on a lawn, pecking away at the soil.

"No," he lamented, "It's probably not."

He focused on his food and for a moment they ate in silence, his friend giving him the occasional look of concern before the other man laughed boisterously and began to talk about a customer with a penchant for creating rose gardens. John knew there wasn't a real reason for the story at all, it was simply a distraction and so he went along with it, detailing a young man who organized grocery stores more often than not and he wished he could toss aside all of the lingering thoughts as they traded odd tales.

Jack, he thought, was lucky that way.

They parted with a simple, "You good?" and John's nod, and then the other man jogged away, backpack bouncing off him as he headed towards his car, no doubt on his way to his bed to sleep away the morning before some mid-day rendezvous with a scandalous man or woman or other that he'd hear all about on his way into the office later that night. John smiled as he began walking towards his own car, a list piling up in his head of things he had to do.

A nap, he thought as he arrived home, setting his keys on a counter and tossing his wallet beside. And when he was done tossing and turning, incapable of finding sleep, he would begrudgingly lift himself out of bed, put on his trainers and go for a run, then clean up a bit, then hit the market to fill his empty fridge and potentially read a book in the afternoon hours. He smiled, wondering what Clara might be up to before pushing the thought away, slipping into more casual attire and falling into bed.

Clara, whom John thought would be dutifully teaching something boring, was shouting, watching as a muddy green colored frog Seamus had brought in for show-and-tell leapt from one table to another, its neck bulging repeatedly as the children all rushed towards it. On the one hand, they wanted to catch it, which, she thought, was admirable; on the other, they'd end up squishing it if it happened to jump on the floor and the boy who stood at her side, his smudged hands pressed tightly into his cheeks, would be devastated.

"Back!" she called, "Everyone back!"

Her arms were held out and she tried to make her way through the children not budging as though wading through ocean waves and eventually she stood at the front, arms coming together to point as she watched them giggle and squeal and slowly begin to inch away.

"Seamus," she called, looking to the dark eyed boy with the messy hair, "Get your frog!"

He hesitated, and then whimpered back, "It's not my frog, miss," before shaking his head and looking to his dirty hands to admit, "I caught him on recess, put him in my lunch bag."

Eyes closing, Clara turned and looked to the amphibian staring back at her, a frustrated look in its gleaming eyes as she sighed, "Ok."

She took a breath and imagined if she could just get it to the window, she could get it to hop out, except it stood between her and the window and the school wasn't equipped with automation so she'd have to pull it open herself. Looking at the frog she knew she'd simply have to catch it. Putting her hands on its slimy skin, managing to hold onto it as it squirmed in her grasp, and believe that one child could listen to instructions long enough to open the window for her. That one, she could at least believe was possible, if she kept an eye on the frog.

"Lily," she sang, head tilting slightly in the girl's direction.

Her most obedient student replied shyly, "Yes, Ms. Oswald?"

Clara watched the frog as she instructed, "Slowly and carefully, go to the window," she pointed delicately, voice wavering as the frog shifted, "And open it fully and then step back to the rest of the class, please."

The girl took a step forward and the frog eyed her as she did just as she was asked before skittishly making her way back to the other students, who were giggling. Clara moved to take a step when Trevor called out boldly, "Ms. Oswald, it's almost time to go, can we get our stuff, or do we have to stand still until you catch the bloody thing?"

She took a long breath and held it painfully, then sighed, "Trevor, you stand still until I catch this frog and if you swear one more time, I'll send you straight to the headmaster until your mum, whom I know is waiting just outside, comes in to question why you've been held back, am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am," he muttered as others snickered.

Hands opening, she considered whether a slow or fast approach would be best, when the frog jumped and she launched herself at it, making three swipes of unsure hands as the students screamed, until she finally held it between her palms, feeling the bile rising in her throat just as the bell rang and she turned, looking to the students, too terrified to move, and then she felt the warmth of liquid hitting her stomach and drenching her skirt and to the eruption of laughter, she nodded her head to the door.

"Go on," she told them, then she shouted after them, "Frog urine is good luck in some cultures!"

They giggled and rushed to collect their bags, storming out of the room as Clara slowly looked to the frog that sat, grumpy in her hands. She went to the open window and dumped it out into the muddy slosh the afternoon rains had brought and then closed the window carefully, twisting back around to look down at her blouse as she leaned into the windowsill.

"Bloody hell," she muttered to herself, looking to her hands before shrugging and wiping them against a clean spot on either side of her skirt. "Had worse," she sighed, pushing off the window and going to bathe her hands in sanitary lotion before she began to collect her things together. Clara then worked on straightening the room, which had become slightly chaotic when everyone had leapt up to chase the frog, and she walked through the front doors and towards her car almost a half hour later, to a nearly empty car park just as a crack of thunder broke the skies.

The rain that poured down soaked her to the bone and Clara was trembling when she dropped into her car, telling it blankly, "Home," and listening to it begin its automation process as she worked to pull out into the street before it took over as she laid her head back against the seat and tried to keep her teeth from clattering aloud.

Another run through the rain after arriving home left her visibly shaking as she entered the lift and patiently waited for it to take her to her floor and she fell into her apartment with a long groan, thinking about nothing more than a hot shower and a bowl of soup. Did she even have soup? She had no clue and as she dropped her clothes in a wet pile on the tiles in her bathroom, she listened to her stomach grumble. She better have something warm, she thought as she turned on the water, melting under the heat of the spray for ten minutes before washing up.

Thankfully there was a bowl of takeaway Miso soup tucked into the back of her fridge that she sniffed and decided was safe to eat after a good two and a half minute trip through the microwave and she found herself curled on her couch, some random old show with a canned laugh track mutedly running as she slowly ate. She would get sick, she knew – she could feel it building already – and she would power through, she told herself. With a frown, she thought against burning the clothes, because she did love that skirt, and she sat quietly, wrapped in a throw, as she thought about shopping for a new wardrobe.

It had been far too long. Over a year if she really thought about it, and she knew part of the reason was cost, but she also knew part of the reason was if Maddie woke up, she wanted those recognizable outfits still there in her closet. Her bottom lip shook as she thought about the girl seeing some new dress on her and exclaiming, "When did you buy that, mummy?"

Dragging herself towards her room after dumping the bowl in her kitchen sink, Clara sniffled hard against her tears and she curled easily into her sheets, forehead warm with the beginnings of fever as her body shivered against cold. She pressed the nodules on and laid her head down, immediately looking out over the park they used to take walks in, finding her daughter standing at her side, peering up at her curiously.

"What's wrong, sweet pea?" She questioned, grinning down at her, still feeling terrible.

Maddie gestured at her to bend towards her and then the little girl pressed her hand against Clara's forehead, small mouth twisting as she shook her head and stated, "We can't go to the park today, you're sick." Then she narrowed her eyes and asked, "Were you playing in the rain again?"

Laughing weakly, Clara groaned, "It did rain on me, and a frog peed on me, isn't that funny?"

Maddie's nose wrinkled as Clara straightened, and she told her firmly, "That's gross." Then she looked around and sighed, "Where's the Doctor? I don't know how to click my heels yet."

Clara touched her cheek, gaining her attention, and she said quietly, "Yes, yes you do."

On a confident nod, she closed her eyes and snapped her fingers and Clara found they were in her bedroom, an afternoon sun sitting lazily on the horizon, dousing the room in its golden rays. Maddie squealed happily and then jumped towards the bed, climbing on and patting the space beside her as she called, "Come on, mummy, you need to lie down!"

"Are you going to take care of me?" Clara asked, smiling at the matching nighties they were suddenly wearing and looking up with one raised brow at Maddie's tiny giggle.

The girl covered her mouth shyly and when she pulled her hands away, she nodded and patted at the bed again until Clara climbed up next to her and they dropped down underneath the sheets. They stared at each other and Clara reached up to brush a long strand of hair behind her ear, asking her again quietly, "Are you going to take care of me, baby?"

Maddie watched her, a small smile playing on her lips as she felt her forehead again and then reached to lay her palm against Clara's chest, feeling her steady heart beat thudding away there. She nodded slowly and explained, "You take care of me every day, mummy; maybe here, I can take care of you." Laughing, she added, "Just a little bit, anyways."

Laughing lightly with her, Clara pulled her closer, hugging her and feeling her twist in her arms to rest the back of her head into Clara's neck, her cold feet curling to find a comfortable spot against her stomach. She sighed; somehow she forgot how tiny her girl was sometimes. She'd weighed only six and a half pounds at birth, and stretched to a measly seventeen inches with effort, but she fit into Clara's arms as perfectly then as she did now.

Clara told her brightly, "I think you'll be very good at it because you know exactly what makes me happy."

"Me," Maddie sang before giggling.

Kissing the back of the girl's head, Clara agreed in a hoarse voice, "That's right, baby girl." Then she thought about Mr. Smith and his offer and she leaned up on her elbow, questioning, "So, what do you think about this Doctor fellow?"

Her daughter twisted to lie on her back, round face working its way through a dozen thoughts expressed as wiggles of her eyebrows, or swings of her lips, and then she peered up at Clara and shrugged, "I think he makes you happy, mummy, and I don't mind him here – he's funny," she ended with a smile.

Staring, Clara nodded, but pressed on, "But this is our time, you and me, and we don't get much of it."

"We didn't have a lot of time before, but we always had Melody around, and auntie Amy and uncle Rory, and they made time fun," she took a small breath. "The Doctor makes time fun too."

Poking the girl's nose, Clara pointed out, "It's because he taught you magic."

She nodded and then poked Clara's nose in return, "Wanna know his best trick?"

"What's that?" Clara laughed.

Maddie snuggled closer and told her, "Blue skies for you, mummy."


	16. Chapter 16

They were in a rose garden, a sudden snap away from the familiar park they tended to end up in within dreams, and Clara watched Maddie's face brighten. It had been two nights since their last meeting. Clara had woken with a fever that kept her father at her bedside until she'd argued him away, and she'd remained curled up in bed for the better part of twenty four hours, body soaked in pain. The idea of dreaming ached her mind and so she slept through the night like Amy declared Rory demanded she should. And she slept through another out of sheer exhaustion after a day on medicines handling screaming children and the general disobedience that came after a day of being out.

Clara hated taking time off work; the rest of the week would become chaos compounded.

But now she was standing barefoot on a sandy path between intricate circles of red and pink rose bushes, all blooming perfectly in the sunlight that illuminated a brilliant blue sky. One that stained her cheeks to match the flowers as she understood it was something, according to her daughter, he brought for her. Mr. Smith, she considered, or the Doctor. Tearing her eyes away from the color above her, she focused on her daughter, smile spreading over Clara's lips as she watched the little girl take in their new surroundings.

Maddie's face lit up, her mouth dropping open as her brow lifted and she gasped, rushing towards the closest flower to take a long breath and shout, "Mummy, come smell them, they're like your perfume!"

Laughing, she made her way towards the girl, seeing the man out of the corner of her eye as he stood watch, hands folded behind his back, hair flapping in the breeze. A simple thin-lipped smirk on his ridiculous face as he waited to be acknowledged that broke into a full grin when Clara finally did turn and catch his eye and nod her head towards them, beckoning him over. He bowed slightly as he took the first long step and she looked down at his own oversized bare feet, awkwardly padding their way through the sand.

"How are you feeling today, Clara?" He asked delicately.

"Mummy," Maddie answered for her, "Was sick, but she's feeling a lot better now."

For a moment he frowned as his hands dropped at his sides and his shoulders hunched and Clara understood all too well what he was thinking: he couldn't do anything about a real life ailment through a dream, and then he met her gaze and offered, "We could postpone, until you're up to it."

Shaking her head, she told him quietly, "I've missed you, actually."

His face burned red and he looked away quickly, a small chuckle escaping before his eyes shifted back and he smirked, responding, "To be honest, I've missed you both a little as well," and his right hand came out to indicate just how much, as they listened to Maddie giggle.

"Did you bring us to the rose garden?" The girl asked.

The Doctor bent and said, "Yes, Maddie, do you like it?"

She whispered, "I love it," before admitting, "I've never been to a rose garden before."

Hand lifting, he pointed on a wag of his long forefinger, "Go on then, have a run around – you won't get lost, I promise you."

The girl stared at him a moment, a twinge of distrust there in her dark eyes, but then Clara watched the smirk that developed just before she rushed away, her feet digging little divots in the sand as she went. Waiting for the Doctor to stand, Clara crossed her arms and approached him, head tilted slightly to look up at him and nod. It amused her, how his brow shifted with uncertainty and he glanced towards where Maddie was walking along the edge of a long square cement holder, arms stretched out at either side for balance, gliding over the hedges, tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth in concentration.

On a sigh, Clara asked him, "What's the trick up your sleeve for me then?"

Arms lifting, the Doctor laughed, "Clara, I've brought you to a rose garden – one drawn from my own memories of visits to castles of the highest regard – setting you and your daughter in the lap of royalty." He pointed, "Don't tell me you're not just a tiny bit impressed."

Smug bastard, she thought before admitting, fingers of her right hand held out an inch apart just as he'd done, just a moment ago, "Possibly a smidge." Then she questioned, "Should we keep an eye on her?"

"There's the trust issue you both have," the Doctor replied quietly, head shaking as he explained, "She's perfectly safe. I'm in control here now." And to her surprised look he flustered, hands shooting out and shaking with his head as he corrected, "In control of the surroundings – just so nothing turns into anything scary in her mind. You're in complete control, Clara. No one else. You." He pointed, "You are the boss."

Smiling, she stated, "I am the boss, aren't I?"

His face shifted as he straightened, looking for just a moment frustrated, and then he shrugged and smiled again, that stupid smile that warmed her heart a bit as he nodded and said, "Yes."

"So, your plan," she surmised, "Is to show me beautiful things and follow me about like some submissive puppy so I'll understand there might actually be a man in the real world who'd be willing to do the same?"

The Doctor's eyes turned slowly to the skies to his right as he squeaked, "Yes?"

Clara bent into him and whispered, "Don't get out much, do you?"

Body bowing towards her in kind, he narrowed his eyes and replied, "I could ask the same of you."

Shifting back, Clara nodded and stated, "Touché," before turning to begin walking the path, waiting for him to jump towards her and walk at her side. Submissive, she thought with a grin, puppy. "No," she finally said with a shift of her chin, "No, I don't get out much; I never really did – always too many things going on."

"What sorts of things?" He questioned.

She eyed him a moment, watching him pick up a random stick to begin tapping roses with. "My mum died when I was a teenager, so around the age my friends were starting to do the whole exploration of everything, I was forced to get a job in the shops and help dad at home." Clara crossed her arms over her chest and watched the way her feet sank into the dense sand, hugging at her toes softly like silk. "I worked, I paid bills, I saved money, I concentrated on schooling because that's what dad said was important. Went to college, stayed away from the party scene, found what I believed to be a nice guy, got married, got an adult job, got pregnant and had a perfect little girl, my marriage went to hell as my husband turned out to be a monster, and I got divorced, and then almost got dead. And now I'm just working on putting one foot in front of the other because otherwise, I'd probably just lie down and never get back up again."

The Doctor wore a frown when she finally looked up at him, feeling him stop and remain a few feet behind her. Turning towards him, she bridged that gap, listening to Maddie laughing somewhere within the maze of roses, and she shrugged when he bowed his head and stated simply, "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," she replied assuredly, reaching out to touch his hand, seeing the white of his knuckles as he gripped the stick tightly. "Not my fault either, I just keep moving forward, stronger – that's the lesson to take away." She waited for him to look to her to continue, "Sometimes you don't get what you want in life; sometimes you work really hard and do everything right and then everything just goes all wrong anyways. It's no one's fault."

He remained quiet, staring at the ground. And then he lifted his head, eyes squinted against the sunlight shining down on them and he lamented, "It's a bit your husband's."

She couldn't help the laugh that erupted from her without warning and she listened as he joined in. Clara nodded slowly and she brought her hands up to wipe at the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes and then she told the Doctor, "Yeah, we'll blame him."

"Mummy," Maddie gasped, running towards them to land against Clara's leg lightly, glancing up as she pressed her chin into Clara's waist to say, "There are bees here." For a moment she thought she might be afraid, but she merely smiled and pointed, "They're making honey and they say we can have some."

"They say," Clara repeated, looking to the Doctor. "The bees talk?"

His hands burst open at either side of his head and he hissed, "Magic!" as she laughed.

Maddie shifted back, grabbing hold of Clara's hand to begin pulling her down a path, shouting back at the Doctor, who remained still, "Come on, Doctor, you've got to see this too!"

Watching him chuckle, Clara knew that he knew exactly what he was about to see and something about that calmed her as they approached the buzzing that was increasing in volume. She'd never liked bees. She respected them because she knew their function in the world, but she'd been stung as a child, directly in the forehead, and it had put a bit of trauma into her mind as a result. So when they reached the spot where a giant honeycomb was half uncovered in a tree, its honey oozing into a welcoming set of slowly cascading pools, she was conflicted about the insects swarming around them.

"Is it safe to eat?" she asked immediately, pulling Maddie back before lifting a hand to cover her mouth with the backs of her finger, hiding the smile before gesturing and looking to the Doctor, "Of course it's safe to eat," because obviously, it's a dream.

She relinquished her hold on her daughter and watched her step carefully towards the nearest honey pool to dip her finger in and bring it up to suck lightly, turning and nodding her approval. The Doctor stepped up behind Clara and he sighed in her ear, "I went to a farm once, they had their own bees, produced their own pure honey – the memory of that texture, the memory of that surprising sweetness – it's all right here."

She turned, taking a breath as she realized just how close he was before asking, "You can do that? Share your memories of touch and taste?"

He smiled and nodded, explaining, "They continually say it's not something that's possible, that people enter into these dream worlds separate of senses – some say it's a sense all to itself – one void of the reality we experience in our waking lives, but I don't believe that. Not at all," his head shook and he reached to land a palm delicately on each of her shoulders, "You feel the weight of my hands and whatever feelings it stirs in you; you experience the comfort, or the fear, or the delight. If this dream world were truly void of our senses, you would feel nothing. There would be dullness; a longing for that very thing you know you should feel." On a shrug he continued, "And some say what we think we feel or hear or taste or smell is merely a memory; that longing so reaching it plucks from the mind and fills in that void with remnants of reality, but I don't think it's true."

Clara nodded slowly, feeling his fingers shifting slightly, each digit carefully curling delicately into her flesh before relaxing against it. She questioned lightly, "Why don't you?"

"Because I remember it when I wake," he told her simply.

Watching her daughter take delicate swipes of the honey, lifting her finger in the air to smile at how it dripped back into the amber pool before she licked her finger, Clara considered his words and she smiled, asking quickly, "When she wakes, she'll remember all of this?"

The Doctor's eyes were brighter when she turned, and she laughed because she felt an odd sort of hope she hadn't felt in a very long time. He looked to Maddie and then his eyes drifted back to her to repeat, "When she wakes," before whispering, "Yes, she will."

Watching him a moment, she could see the confidence in his stare just as easily as she could hear it in his voice and she found herself nodding slowly, accepting his words and shaking away the doubts that plagued her. The terrible thoughts nagging from the back of her mind that told her the odds the world continually reminded her of. To hell with the odds, she decided forcefully. Her daughter would wake and she would remember all of this and she would live out a normal life – whatever life Clara found for them – and they would survive it together.

Turning fully, she threw her arms around the Doctor's neck and slowly, she cried into his chest, feeling him embrace her, curling his body over and lifting hers ever so slightly so that she could bury her face in his shoulder. Stupid tall idiot, she thought as those quiet tears turned to shaking sobs. Because it had become so rare to hear anyone simply said, "Maddie will be ok."

Accept, she'd been told.

Grieve, she'd been told.

Move on, she'd been told.

 _Let go of your baby_.

Clara tried to mutter a thank you, but it came out in a mumble of syllables against him which only served to tighten his hold on her; fingers wrapping their way around the sides of her tiny frame, gripping her in a desperate way she'd never felt before and she understood – he'd said he'd lost his family too. Clara realized she had no idea what the Doctor's story was, or rather, what history sat just behind Mr. Smith wide smile and silly charm, and maybe he knew all too well how it felt to know the world found hope in forgetting when all you wanted to do was remember.

"Mummy," Maddie moaned, "Are you going to kiss him again?"

She laughed, forehead pressing into the Doctor's shoulder as she began to shift back, avoiding his gaze as she twisted to look to her daughter, forefinger of Maddie's right hand pointed to a random spot at the girl's right, avoiding touching the stickiness of the digit to anything else. Clara shrugged and she leisurely slipped away from the Doctor to kneel in the sand in front of Maddie, poking her stomach and watching her giggle.

She'll remember that we laughed, Clara thought; she'll remember she is loved, Clara knew.

"I might," she teased, watching the girl wrinkle her nose.

Clearing his throat, the Doctor stepped towards them, hands now gripped tightly together in front of his chest, foolish grin planted back on his square jaw as he nodded and stated, "Tea and biscuits, anyone?"

Glancing behind Maddie, Clara let out the smallest of gasps as she looked over the round simple white table, adorned with a tiered serving tray at the center that held biscuits and little sandwiches. Clara stood to see there sat a steaming cup beside each of the three colorful plates – one for each of them – and she took Maddie's hand, leading her towards it to sit, watching the girl look into her mug with a curious curling of her lip before she lifted it carefully in her hands to take a small sip.

Turning to the Doctor, she was about to explain that Maddie didn't like tea, when the girl sighed happily at them, "Warm apple cider."

The Doctor lifted his tea and drank, then winked at Clara and told her, "My daughter detested tea time, until I realized she simply wanted something other than tea." He looked to Maddie and nodded, "I could make it a hot chocolate next time, if you'd like – or a fizzy drink, if your mum allows."

Bowing her head, Clara smiled, and then Maddie asked sadly, "What happened to her?"

Eyes quickly darting to the Doctor, Clara inhaled to apologize, but the man raised his right hand slightly off the armrest of his chair, a small shake of his head and a wave of his fingers telling her it was perfectly alright. Children, they both knew, asked questions that adults knew not to ask. He smiled to Clara and she could see the sadness aging his features a moment and she thought about John. Looking to the table, she felt her heart thump out of beat, thinking about how sad that man had been, remembering his family.

"Sadly, she passed away long ago," the Doctor told Maddie softly. He kept his smile for her, but Clara could still see the mourning in his light eyes as he continued, "She was a little older than you are, loved to climb trees and get dirty," his nose wrinkled playfully before his head tilted and he told her, "And she would have liked you."

This made Maddie grin momentarily, before she deflated slightly, and then said honestly, "I'm sorry she's gone, Doctor – I lost my best friend." Her fingers fiddled with her napkin as she admitted, "It hurts all over sometimes, to think about it." Shaking her head and watching him, she stated, "I try not to, because I miss her too much."

Looking between the two, Clara could see them exchange a set of acknowledging nods, some unspoken heartbreak she knew all too well. She let them stare in silence, sipping her tea and taking a nibble off a sandwich, finding a rose bush at the end of the path to look at as it shifted slightly in the light breeze. Something clattered onto her plate and Clara jumped, hearing her daughter's giggle before looking down at the biscuit one of them had tossed and when she glanced up, they were pointing at each other, feigning surprise at the accusation and then laughing together as Clara shook her head.

A few bites to eat later, they were strolling through the gardens again, Maddie perched up on the Doctor's shoulders as he began to detail the types of roses and just where he'd seen each. "Do you grow them in the real world?" Maddie asked him brightly, her hands cupping gently at his chin.

He laughed, "Oh, if I had the time or energy for it."

Head dropping slightly to her left, Maddie questioned, "What do you do in the real world?"

"I run a lot," he told her, "Maybe that's why I'm so skinny?"

Maddie laughed and Clara watched the Doctor break into a dash as the girl squealed and she could easily imagine him with his own child. He was barely an adult himself, she thought. All silliness and games. Quickening her steps, she tried to keep up, but they turned a corner and she laughed, shouting out after them as she began to jog, and then she offered the path a devious stare as she began to run. The warmth of the sun only burned her muscles faster, and she turned a corner, following their laughter, and then another, and it wasn't too long before she finally caught up, seeing them running, side by side, over the sand of a rock garden. There were three large boulders and the sand was carved with lines – lines the duo were destroying in random patterns before they slowed, Maddie curious about them.

And then they stopped, the Doctor dropping gently to his knees as Clara watched his arms extend, pointing out over the garden. He gestured to her daughter and the little girl giggled as he continued to speak, his voice too low for Clara to hear, but she didn't want to step closer. Clara wanted to enjoy her daughter trusting this man enough to reach for his fingers to stop his movements as she sometimes did to her so she could get a word in edgewise. She wanted to watch the girl poke his nose and hold her stomach while she laughed. She wanted to watch them chase each other, continuing to destroy the careful patterns the Doctor's mind had mapped into the sand, until the girl landed against her, red-faced and sweaty.

"I'm tired, mummy," she rasped up at her happily.

Hands curling coolly around her warm cheeks, Clara nodded and she lead Maddie towards a shady spot in the grass around the rock garden, feeling the Doctor's eyes on her as she sat and beckoned her daughter into her lap. Clara sighed as Maddie leaned back into her, resting her head against her breasts and laying her palms over Clara's knees, and they shared a quiet smile.

"Time to go to sleep, Maddie," Clara told her softly as her daughter grinned.

The girl reached up and touched her dimple, "Time for you to wake up."

Clara laughed sadly, admitting, "I miss you when I'm awake."

Maddie breathed, "I miss you when I'm asleep."

"Have you always known?" She questioned curiously, brow furrowing lightly.

On a sleepy shrug, Maddie told her, "Maybe, maybe I had an idea."

She watched as Maddie closed her eyes and she began to feel her body go slack in her arms and after a moment, the little girl faded and Clara was left staring up at the Doctor in confusion. Normally the disconnect meant she'd wake in bed, staring up at her ceiling or looking to that hazy dawn through the window, but now she remained, grass tickling at her bare feet as the Doctor came to help her up.

"I've held onto you just a moment longer," he admitted, "To tell you something."

"Is she safe?" Clara questioned sharply, "Is she back sleeping safely?"

He laughed and nodded and she realized she was gripping his hands; he looked down at them, hanging at either side of them, and he told her, "Yes, Clara, everything is perfectly normal. Her connection was ended, I merely kept you. A conference of sorts between the user and the representative."

Glancing up at him, she shook her head, watching the way his brow dropped and his face shifted, as though struggling with some thought. "So, we're alone?" Clara asked before leaning forward to whisper, "That's something you can do?"

He laughed hoarsely, and then she felt his fingers squeeze just a bit before he explained, "There's something I should tell you, before we do this again." He watched her nod, concern evident. "This," he glanced down at himself as he lifted their arms outward, "This isn't what I look like – this isn't who I am, and I'd like to show you because I think it's important you know who I am before anything gets complicated..."

Clara stopped him with a delicate kiss, and a quiet, "It doesn't matter, Doctor, this is your heart. This is your essence – who you are underneath whatever you look like – and it is beautiful, and that is who you are. That is what matters to me."

"Clara..." he began lightly.

"Hold on just a bit longer," she sighed against his lips. Clara took a breath and reached for the edges of the vest he wore, watching his tablet pop into existence beside them as she tucked her fingers between the fabric of that vest and his shirt to bring him back down for another kiss.


	17. Chapter 17

Amy Williams looked as though she might explode, and it wasn't in the way Clara imagined she would have after she told her about the dream. Clara sat on a bench just on the outer fringes of the school car park a half hour after the final bell, her hands clasped together, tucked between her knees as she watched the lankly red head in front of her pace back and forth just beside the curb, the other woman's face turning a shade just lighter than her hair as she shook her head, hands coming up in a frantic inability to come up with words to explain her thoughts. And then she finally exhaled, body sharply shifting so she could stare into her with wide eyes that slowly narrowed as her body bent.

"You had sex with him," she spat, "In a dream?" She hissed before adding, "Have you gone insane?"

Pointing, Clara gasped, "You're the one who said I needed a good shag!" And she blushed at the words, looking back momentarily to the school, a smirk on her face as she turned back and Amy waved a hand at her in frustration.

"No, Clara Oswald, you push that grin back in your mouth!" Then she straightened and smiled, "Wait, it was a good shag?" Before her head shook and she scolded, "No, no, you don't... you don't do that!"

Shoulders sagging, Clara pressed her lips together and stared at the floor. Her eyes rolled as she groaned, "And here I thought you'd have been pleased."

Amy stuttered, "Pleased. Pleased? Clara, I'm all for you going out and living a life, but this is just an extension of..." she faltered as Clara raised her eyes to meet hers.

"A fantasy," Clara stated blankly, body straightening as she continued calmly, "My time with my daughter is a fantasy and I've simply added a boyfriend to that." She nodded, feeling her ears going warm as she stood. "What would have pleased you is if I'd unplugged from her and gone out and shagged some random bloke off the street, or John, from the Institute – that would have been better?"

Her friend seemed defeated and she moped, "Clara, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way."

Head tilting up towards her, Clara shrugged, "That's exactly what you meant – don't ever apologize for the truth, isn't that what we teach the children?"

"Don't compare me to a child," Amy argued.

Head bowing, Clara kicked at the grass because she knew the other woman had a sore spot for being called immature. She kicked the grass because she understood all too well what her friend meant and she understood her disappointment came from an honest and good place. Clara couldn't be mad at her anymore than she could stop herself from feeling embarrassed about her actions, so she sighed, "I thought it would be safer, that's all."

Amy took three long steps and twisted to sit on the bench as Clara remained standing. "I suppose you're right about that," then she chuckled and Clara felt the tap on her waist as she stated, "Did you have to fumble with a condom like you would in the real world?"

Face shrinking in disgust, Clara swung a hand out and caught her lightly in the shoulder, "Amy!"

"Oh," Amy groaned, "Oh, you just let him go at you, didn't you."

"He did not just go at me! Oh my God," Clara gasped, a smile working its way back onto her face.

"Who came first?" Amy asked in shock, sitting up and offering a look of appall. And to Clara's closed eyes and dropping jaw, she shook her head and then clapped her hands over face. "It was a disgustingly romantic together thing, wasn't it?" She slapped at Clara's skirt as she laughed, "Even Rory has the decency to shoot first and make up for it after."

"Sorry," Clara stated before giggling. "Neither of us had the decency to hold off."

She planted herself down beside Amy, watching her shake her head as she leaned her elbows into her knees and stared at the ground. And then she saw her begin to laugh lightly, turning to give her a smile before breaking into the loud guffaw Clara was used to. Beside her, Clara merely smiled, waiting until Amy finally sighed and looked to the few cars left in spaces – teachers who sadly got more done at the school than at home – and then she jabbed her with her elbow.

"So," Amy began gently, and with a little bit of a wince, "How's it work anyways? I mean, Rory and I tried once, but I said it was ridiculous since we were literally lying next to one another."

Shrugging, Clara replied, "Works like it does in the real world, except, it was very odd – there were clothes and then suddenly there weren't and he seemed utterly embarrassed by that, despite the fact he was fairly well endowed and generally seemed to be good on the upkeep."

"Hung and maintained – I'm liking the sound of this," Amy teased.

"Shut up," Clara laughed.

Amy stated, "Oh, I will."

And to the vehement bobs of her head, Clara rolled her eyes and her hands came up, then fell back onto her knees, rubbing at them anxiously. "Dunno, we just slowly got comfortable with the sudden nakedness, and then there was a blanket in the grass, so we laid down." Clara's shoulders lifted high enough to hurt her neck, and she looked to Amy's raised brow and laughed. "It's sex, Amy. Insert slot A into slot B, repeatedly."

Frowning, Amy lamented, "I really hope that wasn't the talk you had planned for Maddie."

She shoved her, watching her laugh before telling her, "He was gentle, and he was tender, and he asked me a half dozen times if it was truly what I wanted – said it wasn't something he'd ever done before in the dream world..."

"You believed him?" Amy mocked.

Nodding, Clara frowned, "Yeah, Amy, I really do." She shook her head and leaned back into the bench, explaining with a flip of her palm, "He's just always been so plainly honest, even said the body – the face – none of it was really his."

"You didn't pity fuck him, did you Clara?" Amy moaned as she shifted back against the wooden boards beside her, elbow resting on the back of the bench, cheek firmly planted in her palm.

Grimacing, Clara stated, "No," and then she looked to her friend, "I don't know why I did it. Maybe it's the dream world; you want something, you're less inhibited, so you take it. And maybe it was because it was safer, not worrying about some disease or an unwanted pregnancy. Maybe it was knowing I could ruin his career – his life, honestly – and him trusting I wouldn't." She shrugged, picking at her fingernails in her lap, "And maybe it was just the way he held me." Her head dropped back as she told her, "Amy, his touch was like one might caress porcelain. And not in the fragile breakable way, but in that way, that – _this is special and I have to care for it way_ – and it really got to me. I've never had someone treat me that way before."

"Not even..." Amy began.

Clara interrupted, not wanting to hear his name, "No, not even him." She looked to her friend, "And after, when we were just lying there, listening to birds because he's part of some Audubon society group and can recall from memory the songs of a few hundred birds, he just talked. He talked about those birds and how he had a collection of photographs and how he liked to take photos sometimes, just to capture memories. He asked me if I had photographs of Maddie – teased that he just knew I had books upon books of them, stored up on a shelf. And then we talked about her, and how much I missed her in the real world and how hard it was sometimes, seeing her at the hospital. It was upsetting me, so he stopped me and told me about some trip he took to France with his daughter and wife, before they passed."

Bowing her head, Clara swallowed roughly, trying to remember the details. She knew what the woman at her side was thinking – Mr. Smith was using Clara and Maddie as some sort of replacement in as much the same way she believed Clara was using Mr. Smith. She smiled weakly, glancing back up into the redness of her eyes, knowing she was concerned for her, and she nodded, wiping at the corners of her own eyes before laughing and looking away.

"His daughter was scared of the Eiffel Tower. She thought it might come to life and take them to the ocean where she'd drown because she couldn't swim and he told her that nothing of the sort would happen." She pressed her lips into a quasi smile to look back at Amy, "Something about that bothered him, I imagine he's eaten up by the same guilt I am over being so helpless," she shrugged the words away. "So he started to tell me about the birds again, about their names and their colors and silly little facts. I disconnected by falling asleep – and not out of some sort of boredom, but because he lulled me." Looking to her friend, she admitted, "I felt safe, Amy – I haven't felt safe like that in so long and he just..." she sighed and looked to the ground, smirking at the grass the tip of her boots were pressing down repeatedly as she considered him again with a staining of her cheeks.

"Don't fall in love with him," Amy warned.

"I'm not," Clara responded swiftly, defiantly.

Amy leaned forward, palms cupping her own face before she took a long breath and turned with a sad smile as she offered lightly, "It's too late for that, isn't it."

Brow knotting tightly, Clara shook her head, but she knew there was that tiny chance. She could feel her heart skip and she registered the tingle in her gut she couldn't dismiss as hunger. She shook her head at her friend and then pushed off the bench and nodded her head to her car, "Should really hit the market before nightfall." She laughed. "Fridge is empty and dad's gonna start to worry."

"Your dad exists in a state of worry," Amy groaned as she pulled herself up to stand, stepping off the curb to glance sideways at Clara, still taller, Clara lamented, even with the six inch advantage of cement. Head tilting, she explained, "Hard not to with you."

Pulling her keys from her purse, she replied quietly, "Amy, don't worry about me."

"Ah, Clara," Amy sighed, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jacket as she stared out at the grey skies to laugh. "Find a bloke in the real world; have your heart broken the old fashioned way," she nodded. "Then I'll stop worrying."

Laughing at the keys in her hand, Clara managed, "That it? Come cryin' about some fellow from a pub and all's right with the world?"

"Better than cryin' about some fellow who made himself up in your dream," Amy pointed out, reaching to give her a gentle hug and a hard kiss to the forehead before slipping away and grabbing her bags from the curb to walk to her car.

She remained a moment, tapping her car key into her palm, biting her lip, before nodding and grabbing her own bag off the edge of the bench to begin the walk through the car park. Maybe her friend was right, she considered, dropping into the driver's seat, but she liked the safety fantasy because she knew the dangers of reality all too well. "Some fellow in a dream can't so easily send your car careening into a flooded ditch trying to chase down you and your child," she whispered, pulling the car out onto the main road.

John's lunch break had been spend in the men's room staring at a pair of soiled pants in a stall, face red with embarrassment, memory replaying that dream so often he'd ended up having to take ten extra minutes to think about the back of a door to calm himself back into a state presentable to anyone passing in the hall. Most especially Jack – who would immediately notice the lump in his trousers and demand explanation with a grin and a wink.

He knew her body had been drawn from her own recollection of it and something about that made him hate himself. His hands had roamed where his eyes hadn't and he could relive every curve through the memory of touch, knowing exactly where she had laughed and where she had moaned and where she had remained indifferent to the pads of his fingers and the pressures of his palm as she kissed him. He pushed all thoughts of her out of his mind when he returned, logging on twenty two sets of notes in files for the rest of the night, trying to remind himself Clara was getting most of a good night's rest. Reminding himself Maddie was as well – because in spite of her comatose status, he imagined the little girl needed her rest just as much as her mother did.

At the end of his shift, he rushed from the building, clamored down the front steps, and sped away in his car towards his flat, ignoring the calls from Jack on his mobile. He'd explain another day, he considered as he pushed inside his front door; or he'd never explain at all, he told himself, knowing it was the better option. It wasn't supposed to happen that way, he thought to himself as he showered and set a load of laundry to run. It wasn't supposed to happen at all, John argued with himself as he dressed in his sweats and moved out into the cool morning air.

He'd promised himself he'd stop her if it came to that, because he knew it might come up in her mind at some point, he could feel the attraction she had towards the character he'd created from the start, even when she resisted. John ran until his lungs burned and fell against an old blue phone box, pressing his head to the door and taking long uneven breaths of musty wood, pressing his knuckles into the chipping paint on either side of him to push off, brushing at his forehead in case any of it had flecked off, remaining stuck to the sweat that dotted his skin.

"Go home," he ordered himself, "Read a book," he gasped, fingers curling into fists at his side.

Nodding to no one, he looked over the empty streets and tried to catch his breath before starting to walk back, feeling his muscles aching as he registered just how far he'd gone. Too many miles, he thought as he hailed a cab, falling into the back with a grunt before grumbling his address and fishing out his wallet. Wasted money, he considered as they drove, eyes closing as the faint sunlight fluttered in against his face.

The clouds had moved in completely by the time he arrived home and he trudged back up to his bedroom where he fell into it, staring at the ceiling. John kicked his shoes off and he let himself think about her then. The delicate way her fingers trailed over his body; the seductive way her legs wrapped around him and urged him on; the throaty giggle she offered when he kissed the inside of her left thigh; the warbled cry when she came.

His eyes closed slowly and he dropped into the darkness of sleep where he was immersed in the songs of birds and the memory of the sadness in her eyes when he mentioned his daughter. Clara knew how it pained him; he saw that pain reflected in her and he detailed nonsense about nothing until she'd slowly disappeared from his arms, leaving him feeling empty and cold.

Waking sharply to the sound of his mobile, John jerked in the bed and glanced at the clock, hand coming up to slowly make its way over his face to rub the sleep from it. He'd slept seven hours. The knowledge made him chuckle as he pulled himself into a sitting position, glancing to the mobile on his dresser and how it clattered about slightly. Seven hours, he thought, it'd been a long time since he'd slept so soundly.

Standing, he moved to retrieve the device, looking to the familiar name on the display and he slid a finger along the front, bringing the phone to his ear to hear the shrill, "Where the hell have you been, man? You just ran away at the end of the shift – who set a fire under your ass today? John? John, you there?"

Hand rubbing at his face again, he responded groggily, "Yes, Jack, I'm here."

"You sound like hell, you alright?"

Smiling at the concern in his friend's voice, John nodded, "Yes, Jack, I'm fine."

There was a pause, and then a quick, "Explain."

"Exhausted is all," he stated with a shrug.

"You're avoiding," Jack stated nonchalantly.

His fingers pressed into the bridge of his nose until he winced. "I can't be exhausted?"

Another silence and then a sigh, "Meet me? We can talk it over."

Shaking his head, John let his hand drop away before gesturing out towards his kitchen, "Sorry, errands to run, an empty fridge that needs stocking. I really must go, Jack."

"Alright," the other man sang, "You'll tell me when you're ready – see you tonight."

"Bye," John sang back before plugging his finger into the screen to end the call, glancing down at himself before looking away and groaning. "Cold shower," he stated, "Market," he ordered, setting the mobile back on the dresser before beginning to strip away at the smelly jumper he wore.

An hour later he was pushing a cart through the aisles of a store that had the air setting too cold and the music just a tad too high, bottom lip tucked between his teeth in frustration as he tried to remember everything he needed. Food, he reminded, because takeaway was good, but not necessarily good for you. He smiled as he lifted a package of chicken and moved to set it into his cart next to bags of assorted vegetables and a box of cookies.

"Didn't figure you for indulgence of that sort."

Her voice startled him and the chicken dropped heavily into the cart with wet noise that wrinkled her nose as he looked to her and said simply, "Clara."

She giggled and his heart jumped, and then she told him, "Sorry, about that," she pointed, "Thought I'd just come by and say hi."

He smiled, cheeks going a bit pink as he said lightly, "Hi."

Head tilting slightly, eyes going a tad wide, John understood he was behaving oddly and he tried to straighten and clear his throat as he watched her turn away and scratch her head, shifting the weight of the basket she held into her left hand before trading it back to gesture with her right, "So you're good with that, the cooking thing?"

John looked in at his items and shrugged, turning back to the microwave dinners stacked in her basket next to some diet crisps and a bottle of water. "Um," he considered, awkwardly shrugging, "I suppose," he smiled, "I manage." And before he could stop himself, he offered, "You could be the judge of my skills one night, if you'd like."

He might have apologized for being too forward, but she took a breath and considered it – and he had no way of knowing her friend's words from an earlier conversation were still rolling about in her head, telling her that John wasn't a bloke from the pub, but he was still a bloke – before she nodded slowly and smiled. Clara shrugged and then lifted her chin towards him, "You're off Saturday, how about a lunch?" Then she frowned, "Or would you be too tired from work?"

Mouth hanging open, he simply stared.

"John," she laughed, "Is Saturday for lunch ok?"

Head shaking slightly, he looked down as he plucked his mobile from his back pocket and began quietly, after a clearing of his throat, "Yes, Saturday, lunch. Would be good. Just need."

Shifting the phone out of his hands – hands, Clara could see, that were trembling slightly – she entered her contact information and nodded, sending herself a text with his name as she told him, "Good, ok, we're in agreement then. Send me your address and I'll be there around noon?" Her head came up, "Noon ok?"

John took the device from her outstretched hand and slowly his head bobbed as he responded, "Noon would be perfect, Ms. Os... Clara." He managed a smile, one he hoped didn't look as pleased as he felt, and he watched her grin back – not a grin that said she was doing this to be kind, but a grin that said she was doing this out of curiosity, and maybe just a bit out of a sort of attraction – and he took a breath, telling her, "See you Saturday then, Clara."

"Saturday," she said simply with a bob of her head before twisting and beginning to walk away, turning back just once to give him another honest smile and a tiny wave of her hand. John watched her go, his mobile held tightly in his hand and once she'd rounded the corner, after looking back just once more before bowing her head and smirking down at the items in her basket, he exhaled.


	18. Chapter 18

Piling on the sand, Clara tried to make it look like a castle and she exchanged a disappointed look with the five year old across from her, neither very confident about their sand castle making abilities, before she finally slapped her hands to either side of the mound and grunted at it. Maddie giggled, one hand coming up to hold an inch from her mouth as her eyes squinted, not daring to touch the dirtied hand to her face. Clara watched her, a tranquil smile on her lips as the girl shook her head and then scooped out a tiny bit of water from a yellow bucket her side to pour over the lop-sided construction between them.

They'd been there the better part of a day, their skin darkening slightly from the sun – glowing with a touch of sunburn neither would ever feel. The sand was a brilliant shade of coral and after running through it, and watching it slosh about in the water, and landing heavily against it on the influx of a wave, Maddie had asked to make a sand castle. Of course, neither of them were particularly good at it and for a moment, Clara wished the Doctor would arrive – as if somehow he could make the sand behave.

"Mummy," Maddie sighed, "Are you thinking about him again?"

She smiled, nodded, and admitted, "Maybe a little."

"I don't think he's coming tonight," the girl offered with a shrug, and Clara felt her face warm. Then Maddie raised her dark eyes to meet hers, "This is his job, right? Coming to dreams to help people?"

Swallowing roughly, Clara tilted her head and told her, as she continued to try and make the sand stay standing, "Yeah, he comes into a dream when people are scared or unhappy and he helps them."

Clara stopped patting, listening to the silence across from her, and she lifted her head slightly to see her daughter staring down at the sand, tiny face fallen in sadness, bottom lip pouted slightly. Thinking, Clara knew. And she understood she'd chosen the wrong words because her little girl would remember the dreams the Doctor had entered and her little girl would know the Doctor wasn't there for her because she'd only been scared the one time, with the flowers, and since Maddie wasn't sad...

"Maddie," Clara sighed, "He's here to help us."

Eyes drifting away, her daughter asked quietly, "Are you unhappy because of me?"

Straightening, she gave up on the castle and watched the girl fiddle with the muddy sand in front of her, frightened, Clara knew, of what her mother would say. So she raised her hands and offered lightly, "Come here, baby," waiting for the girl to pick herself up and trudge through the castle to land in her lap in a messy heap of warmth and the beginnings, Clara could feel, of tears. "Do you know where you are?" She asked her softly.

The small body she held trembled slightly before she said, "Asleep."

"But," Clara began, hesitating slightly, "Do you know where you are?"

"Stuck," Maddie told her, turning in her arms to look up at her, shaking her head as she explained, "I don't know where I am, mummy, I'm just stuck."

"Are you afraid?" Clara questioned.

Taking a breath, Maddie told her quietly, "No."

Smiling, Clara hugged her firmly against her, the stickiness of their bodies and the smell of the ocean on their skin invading her senses as she listened to her daughter's breaths. She missed kneeling next to her bed at home, watching her sleep; it wasn't the same in the hospital, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself it was.

Clara kissed her cheek and she told her gently, "You're stuck in your sleep and that's why I have to visit you here, but I know exactly where you are and I will always find you and I will always love you, and one day you're going to figure out how to unstick yourself from this place, baby girl, and everything is going to be better, I promise you that."

They rocked slightly together, Maddie giggling softly and holding tightly to the arms Clara had wrapped around her, and then she asked curiously, "Is the Doctor still going to be there when I get unstuck?"

On a laugh, Clara asked, "Do you want him to be there? With his silly bow tie and his silly face."

She shrugged, "I like him." Turning slightly to look up at her, Maddie asked, "Mummy, if I'm not there when you wake up, are you alone?"

Her daughter's eyes were pools of worry as Clara thought about it, and her mouth fell open, hesitating before pulling a smile on to look down at her to assure, "Your grandfather is there, and so are your aunt Amy and uncle Rory..."

"But," she interrupted, lips pressing together tightly before she began again, "We used to watch the telly at night, and make dinner together, and I'd play while you did homework, and sometimes we'd have sleepovers and now I'm not there for that." Her small head bowed, "You must be lonely, mummy."

Clara brushed a hand over the girl's hair and teased, "I should get a hundred cats."

Maddie laughed, "Not a hundred mummy; that would be too many."

"Oh," Clara breathed, "Maybe fifty then."

The girl laughed again and shook her head, "You're silly, mummy."

"I'm trying to make new friends," she finally told her, watching her smiling lazily at what was left of their sand castle attempt. "I met a man, his name is John, and he's nice – we're going to have lunch today. He's going to cook for me."

"A boy who cooks!" Maddie shrieked before wrinkling her nose. "I hope he doesn't put worms in it."

Clara released one good hoot and then shook her head, telling her, "Nah, he's not like other boys."

Twisting to lay in her lap, Maddie looked her over, studying the red on her cheeks and the way her hair waved naturally, blowing lightly in the wind. She reached up and poked her nose and smiled. "Ew," she groaned, "You like him."

Chuckling, Clara responded, "And what's wrong with that?"

Shrugging, Maddie yawned and Clara knew – the dream was ending and her little girl would fade away soon, back to the sleep of a coma. "Don't kiss him," Maddie argued, "It's gross."

She merely nodded, bending and pressing her lips to the girl's warm forehead before beginning to sing a lullaby, watching Maddie's dark eyes blink rapidly before falling shut and eventually she was gone. For a moment Clara remained, listening to the gently crashes of the waves at her left and the howl of the wind at her right. She wondered what the girl would think if she saw John and she frowned; she would think he was old. On a smile she took a deep breath and she closed her eyes and waited until her own eyes opened and she was looking up at the first dimmed rays of the morning brightening her ceiling only slightly.

Plucking the nodes off her, she remained, buried under too many sheets for just a bit longer, thinking about Maddie's concerns, wondering if she was still thinking about them. Clara could hear the rain beginning to tap against her window and she rolled onto her side, pulling the sheets to her neck, eyes closing slowly before blinking open against sunlight. For a moment she was confused, and then she glanced at her clock and saw it read eleven thirty two and she jolted upright, tossing her sheets aside.

She would be late, she thought as she bathed and washed her hair, nodding at it in the mirror before deciding to let it air dry as she pushed clothes aside in her closet, looking for the just right ensemble. Nothing sexy, she knew; nothing that would give the wrong impression; nothing that might lead him to believe there might be more kissing. Her mind paused to think about how light his lips had felt and how she'd breathed him in – that clean aroma with just a bite of tomato left over from dinner. Shaking her head, Clara plucked a set of black jeans and a pearl colored jumper from their hangers and dropped them onto the bed as she removed her towel, dressing in a rush and then bolting out the door.

Glaring at her watch before taking the steering wheel to maneuver the car the last block and into a parking structure, she knew she'd forgotten her perfume, but she was thankful she remembered deodorant and knew it'd have to do for the day. She climbed out car, plucking up the bottle of wine that had been wedged into the space between seats before making her way towards the lift, jamming a finger on the twelfth floor button and then gripping the neck of the bottle as she made her way up.

His door was unlike any of the others, painted red with a golden 1229 in brass numbers quietly awaiting her arrival and she hesitated before knocking, taking a deep breath and then bringing her knuckles down four times in rapid succession. Then she took a step back and waited, heart pounding in her chest as she listened to the clicks of locks unhinging before it swung open and John smiled down at her.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she immediately told him, lifting the bottle and tilting her head, "And I'm sorry, I'd meant to pick up a dessert, but I..." she thought a moment before telling him honestly, "I overslept."

Bowing his head, John gripped the door and then admitted, "I thought you weren't going to come."

Bottle swinging and slapping her painfully in the left knee, Clara laughed, "No, no, no, I wouldn't do that – at least not without some sort of call to let you know." She brought the bottle up against her chest and repeated, "I am so sorry – I haven't ruined lunch, have I?"

He smiled at her, an amused smile, and then he opened the door widely and raised an arm, telling her, "No, Clara, you haven't ruined anything."

Releasing a breath, Clara handed him the wine and she stepped inside, looking around at the open space of the living room area and nodding to it. "Make yourself at home," John offered as he went back down a hallway towards his kitchen, and Clara laughed softly to herself.

That, she thought, would require a paintbrush and maybe some decorative pillows. He had a single black old couch that faced a television set overtop an old music system she imagined he'd had for years; a simple matching coffee table sat in between on which only the small clear control tablet for the devices was settled. There were two sets of square shelves, with three levels each, bolted into the wall on either side of the 'entertainment center' and they were each sparsely filled with a few books held between standard bookends, and the odd knickknack she imagined he picked up travelling.

A statue of the Eiffel tower sat beside a set of books on French cuisine, culture, and tourist spots, and two mystery novels she imagined were set in France. The middle level held similar sets from Italy and China, a small Gong with a tiny mallet just beside them. She tapped it lightly with her fingernail, listening to the bell chime as the golden disk shivered before she bent slightly to look at the bottom level. Clara smiled, finger reaching up to slide along a second set of seventeen books, of an assortment of heights and thickness in no particular order, all on the human psyche and the meaning of dreams and she glanced back towards the hallway where she heard him humming something in between clicks and clanks of a spoon against a pot.

"I couldn't properly begin cooking until you arrived," he called, "Shouldn't take too long."

"Ok," she replied, twisting back around to take the three steps around the television to examine the second set of shelves. They were busier than the others, random books on random places, bunched by continent, some lying on their sides with bookmarks hanging out of them. She touched a book on Florida and bent to read the spine of one about Canada and then she glanced at the bottom shelf there and frowned. The travel ideas of the future gave way to the sadness of his past. A figurine of a ballerina sat beside a row of fairy tales and adventure novels for children and she plucked one free, opening it slowly to find the doodles of a child decorating the inside coverings.

Clara laughed, fingers flowing carefully over the half-letters and the random circles. She knew these were the marks of a smaller child and she could easily recall similar ones Maddie had drawn in the books in her own home. Marks she could never quite bring herself to admonish the girl for because she'd shown them to her with a proud, "Look, mummy, like you do!"

John cleared his throat and she lifted her head to feel her tears drop heavily over her cheeks as she took in his sad expression, looking not to the book in her hand, she realized, but to her, understanding Clara's memories were fresher than his, as was her pain. "She used to love reading in bed, tucked between my wife and myself – but sometimes I thought it was merely a trick to stay up past her bedtime."

On a soft laugh, Clara nodded, shelving the book while telling him, "Maddie used to do the same, tried to get me to read and then talk until she exhausted herself out."

"I could never be mad at her," John lamented.

"She just wanted more time," Clara breathed.

They remained, silently staring at the space in front of them, until John shook his head and gestured back towards a dining room table set next to the back wall, "Lunch," was all he said, going back to the table to pop open the wine bottle she'd brought with her to pour them each a glass, and Clara slowly made her way towards him, looking to the covered plates with a smile.

"Smells a bit like onions," she told him quietly as he pulled a chair back for her, waiting until she had seated to take his own seat across from her. And to his nervous stare, she leaned forward and whispered, "Don't worry, John, I like onions."

He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and then he uncovered the plates, setting the silver lids aside.

Clara looked down and she laughed, "Omelette?"

"Not just any omelette," he chastised, looking slightly insulted. She giggled in response as he explained, "Mother's recipe, which you won't get," he raised an eyebrow before smiling, "We didn't have the luxuries of some growing up, but we had a vegetable garden and a handful of chickens in the yard and we made due when the money was tight."

She stretched a napkin over her lap and picked up her fork, seeing he was watching her as she cut into her omelette carefully and lifted a bite to her lips to taste, immediately nodding her approval and seeing how pleased it made him. For a moment she thought about how he probably didn't have company over often; and then she thought about how he probably hadn't made this recipe for anyone else in a very long time; and soon she was thinking about how he'd have no one to pass it on to.

"Clara?" He questioned.

She set her fork down to wipe at the tears on her face before shaking her head and giving a nervous laugh, "I'm so sorry, mind got wrapped up in thoughts."

"As minds are compelled to do," he replied thoughtfully, reaching across to hold the right hand she'd settled on the table and Clara turned it over, offering her palm and smiling when he took it, curling her fingers over his. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She laughed, a broken laugh, as she thought before telling him, "It was just a sad thought – I'm usually fairly good at pushing those aside, going on about life."

"What sad thought?" He questioned, and she felt his thumb rubbing soothingly against her skin, something that made her hold on tighter.

Taking a breath, she explained, "I have my mother's jewelry. A whole collection of beautiful things that I wear with care, and I promised myself I would pass that on to my daughter one day. I hold onto hope that she'll wake up, I hold onto that hope with every bit of strength I have, but every once in a while I just think to myself, she's never going to get up again." Clara looked up at him and nodded, "That was one of those moments, where I just think all of this jewelry is going to get tossed into some charity shop when I pass away and no one is going to know how much love is in each piece because the people who get it aren't going to be the ones who spent a lifetime with it."

John looked down at the omelette and he nodded, "You're thinking about my omelette."

With a shrug and feeling incredibly foolish, Clara explained, "The things we love should be passed down, parent to child, and it's unfair we were robbed of that."

He nodded and gave her hand a quick squeeze before leaning back in his chair to continue cutting at his food, pausing to tell her, "Clara, while we all have an odd, almost primitive instinct to pass things down generationally, there's nothing stopping us from finding someone else to pass these things on to – passing them on with as much love as if it had been given to our daughters." He laughed, "There are loads of people who gain inheritances who care little for their contents, nor the people who offered them. What's important isn't the thing. The thing is a thing that will eventually wither away like our bodies." He pointed, "The important thing is the love we share with people while they're around, whether it's over an omelette, or a box of jewelry, or a love of football, or a book of poetry."

Clara watched him take a large bite and she pushed the edge of her fork into her food, cutting a bit off while telling him quietly, "You're right," then she laughed softly, a twinge of embarrassment warming her neck as she took a long sip of wine before stating, "I'm sorry. I get emotional sometimes, randomly."

"Understandable," he offered. Shrugging, he told her, "I've been around for quite some time, Clara, trust me, that was fairly tame – and I'm certainly willing to listen, should you need to have another emotional moment now and again. Just an old man, nothing better to do with his time; your words, any of them, would be a worthy earworm," he laughed into his food, eyes locked on the table.

"You're not just an old man," Clara stated simply.

He looked up at her then, hands stilling as he watched her stare. "Aren't I?" He said with a smile.

Her lips remained stagnant, and for a moment she looked him over. Age wasn't what she saw. She merely saw a man who'd had too much taken and had so much to give she wasn't even sure he understood he had. She saw a man who had so much sadness behind his eyes but ignored it because his heart was too big to simply brush aside the pain he saw in hers. She saw a man who deserved better than a sterile colorless flat and a shelf of faded memories on a wall and she was scared of the idea brewing in her head.

The one that said maybe he needed her as much as he thought she needed him.

Clara took another bite of the omelette and she sighed, turning away, hand coming up to cover her mouth as she told him, "It's really good."

John was quiet as she took several more bites, working slowly through the lunch, sipping away at her wine, and Clara waited, letting him be the first to speak, with a nod, telling her, "I thought we'd go catch something at the cinema," and when a crack of thunder opened the skies, he laughed and raised a brow, "Or something off the tele, maybe?"

She thought it was going to be awkward, but two hours spent in silence, some classic movie she was vaguely aware of playing quietly on that old television as they sat together on his couch, the rain falling in sheets just outside the window to their left, Clara would tell anyone they were the most relaxing two hours she'd had in a very long time. No questions or bothers or thoughts on school and work and students or Maddie and hospital bills and hospice ads and homes for invalids in the mail. Nothing but two people lost in the plot of a ridiculous movie she knew neither of them would have indulged in otherwise.

The film ended just as the rain did, and when Clara looked towards the skies, John told her quietly, reaching out to cup his left hand over her right, "Go be with your daughter."

Turning, she replied, "Are you sure?" Then, slowly, she questioned, "Do you want to come meet her?" Clara held her breath, not knowing why she'd asked him that – perhaps she knew he'd visit her child with the same enthusiasm her father would. Perhaps she didn't want to go alone. She watched him stand and shake his head, the edges of his lips rising slightly before he walked to the shelves on the left and began to shuffle through items and when he turned back, he held a yellow, blue, and green tomb tightly within his fingers.

"Take this," he said, stepping towards her as she stood, "It's a collection of stories; I've bookmarked one in particular. It was a favorite of my daughter's; I would be honored if you read it to yours for a while."

Reaching out, she took the book and hugged it, nodding her head slowly, "Thank you."

Clara went to retrieve her purse and she felt him behind her, giving her enough distances to feel safe, but staying close enough to observe her. She turned back, watching him push his hands deeply into the pockets of his dark slacks as he hung his head slightly, a silly grin on his face. She wondered what he was thinking as he raised his eyes to look at her, something mischievous sparkling there that made her smirk.

"Thank you," she began softly, "For lunch."

"Thank you," he replied in kind, "For the company."

"We'll have to finish the bottle of wine another day," Clara told him, gesturing back towards the kitchen with the book she immediately brought protectively back to her chest.

He twisted, then turned back, a slightly surprised look on his face as he asked, "Another day?"

Nodding slowly, Clara smiled, "Yes, maybe next Saturday?"

He twisted again, then turned back again, looking flummoxed, but then his hands came out and clapped together and he bowed towards her, brow rising as he stated simply, "Yes."

"Lunch, and I promise to be on time and with dessert," she told him, pouting her lips and dropping her own brow authoritatively. "I expect cheap take away – your choice – and then," she smiled, "Surprise me."

John stared and Clara giggled, inching up to quickly peck his cheek and then offered a tiny wave as she watched his face go ten shades of red, before she opened the door and departed, blushing herself by the time she reached the lift. She gripped the book tightly and closed her eyes, leaning against the back wall after she pressed the ground button and she took a long breath, exhaling as she glanced down at the book, curious about the story he wanted her to read to Maddie. Opening the book up to the page marked, Clara laughed, looking down at the sheet holding the page – a worn paper on which sat the recipe for an omelette.


	19. Chapter 19

John was rolling up his sleeves, doing a cursory examination of his work station before glancing at the clock to make sure he was on time – early, in fact – when Jack knocked on his door. He turned with a smile and he laughed at the confused look the other man offered, bowing his head and reaching to hold the armrest of his chair, understanding. It wasn't often John greeted the work week with anything more than a nod and a scowl. It was work. Work he cherished, but work none-the-less.

"I have the right office, right," Jack teased, holding the doorframe and swinging back out to look at the name plate there, high up, just above his head before swinging back in to take a step towards the man.

Nodding to him, John waved a hand, "Yours is a few doors down, best you be off before you're late."

"We've got ten minutes," he scoffed, hand flipping through the air before he tilted his head and stated bluntly and with offense, "You've been ignoring my calls, plugging in early and then running out at the end of each work day..."

Gripping the leather of the seat, John shook his head, "Not ignoring, postponing an inevitable conversation, one we should have at lunch, perhaps?"

Glancing sideways, Jack shook his head and pointed to the ground, "Or now? Preview? So I'm not worried something's gone wrong and you're stalling to come up with some clever lie to feed me."

He sighed, "I couldn't tell her."

"Tell her," Jack began before straightening, "Dream girl – Clara is it? – You didn't show her your real face." He sneered, "What's so damned attractive about that face?"

John continued, "She didn't let me show her, said it didn't matter, and after her daughter unplugged, we had a bit of private time."

Taking a step forward, Jack shot, "Is that your euphemism for sex?"

Leaning back, John raised a hand and then dropped it, "And I ran into her at the market and she invited herself over for lunch on Saturday..."

"Was there more sex?"

He frowned up at the man, "She wants to come back this Saturday for another lunch, says I should surprise her, and now I had planned to go in to spend another night with her, but it's become complicated."

"Because she's technically leading both you and your alter ego on," he laughed, "She's the Lois Lane to your really messed up Superman slash Clark Kent, this is brilliant."

"Shut up," John spat, eyes closing, hand coming up to raise a palm to his friend.

For a moment he expected a playful high-five, but instead he received a sigh and when John looked to him, his hands were clasped in front of him, his head was bowed, nodding slightly, and he seemed to be thinking. Something John wasn't used to from the other man – intense, intentional, earnest thinking. "Don't make it complicated," he finally stated firmly. With a point of both of his forefingers, Jack explained, "She wants this fantasy with your dream man, but she also wants a safe reality from you. Maybe it's a game to her; maybe it's not, but something about you is comforting her in so many ways," he smirked for a moment before shaking it off and concluding, "Be her friend here; be her lover there – but don't complicate it by thinking, you're terrible at that."

Rubbing his head with his right hand, John shrugged, "I don't know how to come away with this where someone isn't hurt in the end."

Moving forward, Jack clapped his palms down painfully over his shoulders, giving them a squeeze and then a pat before telling him, "You knew that when you started," shaking his head, he laughed, "There's no turning back now."

John watched him check his wrist for the time and he nodded, "Seven minutes."

"Lunch," Jack stated, head shifting to catch his eye, "And I want to know how good it was."

Slapping his hands way, John listened to his friend chuckle as he turned and walked from the room as he laid himself into his chair, typing into his computer quickly to log himself in. He pressed the nodules to his temples and tucked one into his shirt, looking to the line of his heartbeat hopping on the screen, and then he sighed, lying back and finding her connection. For a moment he watched the tranquil vitals of her and her daughter, almost in tandem, and he smiled.

He found them in her flat again, the colorful inviting world he melted into with a serene grin as they both stopped their pillow fort building to smile up at him, waving him over. "Wanna build a castle?" Maddie asked him excitedly, a giggle emerging a split second later when Clara whispered something in her ear. "You're the jester!"

Bowing, he surmised, "The Queen and her Princess, then, I presume."

Clara tossed a pillow at him, and faked a frown as her daughter fell into a pile of blankets laughing while she told him gruffly, "Jester, I am not amused."

"Perhaps I am no Jester," he replied, planting his fists into his waist to puff out his chest and look to the ceiling at his right, "Perhaps I am a Knight, sent on a quest to protect a Queen, and a little Princess."

Maddie squealed and Clara laughed lightly, shaking her head as the girl stood and grabbed hold of his hand, tugging him into their nest of chairs and patched quilts and dolls. "You're the King from another land," Maddie explained, eyes widening as he sat, legs folded in front of him. "You're here to woo the Queen."

"Oooo," he breathed, "Scandalous."

The girl shook her head and told him, "I don't know what that means, but it's time for tea and the Queen hates to be kept waiting."

Frowning and straightening, John replied seriously, "Ought not keep the Queen mum waiting then." Snapping his fingers, a tea set appeared and Maddie clapped her hands, falling beside him and leaning into his left thigh to take an empty cup and pretend to lift a biscuit to nibble. "How is the Queen tonight?" John asked, looking to the quiet amusement in Clara's eyes.

On a small bowing of her head, she offered, "Spectacular, thank you – and how is the King from the far off land tonight?"

He smiled up at her, listening to Maddie having conversations with her dolls between them, and he watched her blush, not averting her eyes as he asked, "Wondering how the Queen has fared since his last visit."

Looking to her daughter then, she pressed her lips together and tucked them in, but he could see the smirk she held onto, knew what she was thinking as they looked around at the piles of pillows behind them. Fantasy, John thought, remembering Jack's words; why not let this be theirs? He nudged Maddie and she glanced up at him, oblivious to the adult's banter, as he asked, "Is this the infamous Mrs. Moffat?"

Nodding, she raised the doll so he could get a better look. She looked just like every doll, he thought as he flattened the blue polka dot dress she wore and ran a hand over her hair, handing her back as Maddie told him brightly, "She's my favorite, and she loves tea time more than mummy, I think. She used to have a red dress, but it got too old to clean, so we found her a new dress. I think this one is prettier, it reminds me of the sky in the summer." Then she glanced up at him, "Do you have a favorite doll, Doctor?"

As Clara stifled a giggle, he lamented, "No, sadly I was not given many dolls."

"That's right," Maddie sighed, "You're a boy."

He gasped, hands coming up to press at his chest before he tugged at his hair and exclaimed, "I'm a boy!?" John watched the girl beside him collapse back into the pillows, laughing as he continued to check his brow and his nose, tapping at his chin with both hands, "A boy with a big chin!"

Dropping back onto the pillows, he looked to the little girl as she turned and her laughter tapered off and he smiled when she reached out and gave his nose a poke, telling him quietly, "I like your face."

"A bit silly," he told her, "Like me."

She nodded and then rolled onto her stomach, crawling closer to whisper, "I meant I like this face."

John watched her a moment as she licked her lips and then reached out again, tracing a line that should have sat along his cheek before running her finger over his nose. Could she see beyond the facade in a way her mother could not? Did she know, he questioned as she dropped back to smile at him. Maddie studied his face and for some odd reason, he imagined she was looking through the silly young man to the old buffer underneath and the child accepted him in a way most adults wouldn't. Would Clara, he asked himself, glancing to the woman who seemed oblivious to their little secret.

Flopping onto her back, Maddie pulled her mother down beside her and they began to make up a story about Mrs. Moffat being in danger in the castle and John leaned up on his elbow, watching them, feeling his heart both swelling and breaking and knowing it was all so unfair. Clara's eyes widened as she created a dragon out of her arm, flying in to get the doll that Maddie protected with another – a proper knight, she argued – and eventually the dragon was defeated and John was left watching the little girl fiddling with her mother's necklace, tucked in closer to her.

"Maddie," he called, seeing those dark eyes turn in his direction and sighing as they did, "You're a wonderful story teller."

She replied with a shy smile before turning towards her mother, cuddling into her. John could hear Clara urging her to go to sleep and he could see how much the words pained her. Every time she encouraged the girl to rest, she lost time with her and when the girl vanished, Clara broke down as John held onto her connection, shifting towards her to hold her. He listened to her silently cry against his chest, her hands finding his vest to hold as he stroked her hair and rubbed soothing circles on her back.

"Sometimes," she told him after she'd exhausted her tears, "Sometimes it feels easy, like I'm simply putting her into her bed and letting her drift off to sleep, but I can't... tuck her in once she's asleep, she just goes away, back into her comatose world of darkness. Sometimes it feels like I'm just losing her over and over again."

Clara dropped onto her back, hair splayed out over a mustard colored pillow, and he touched her cheek, thumb drifting over the spot where her dimple dented in when she smiled. "And you worry, is this any better than the alternative."

"Leaving her alone," Clara said simply.

Looking around, John gestured at the open fort they'd built and he glanced back down at her, "Clara, you've created a world of love here for her; you've made sure that for a while at least, almost every day, your little girl is reminded of how very much she is loved and I assure you, she does not return to a world of darkness when she leaves here." He watched the way she looked him over curiously as he finished, "She takes all of this with her in some way and it comforts her. You're not losing her, Clara, you're helping her live."

John felt her fingertips slip underneath his vest, tugging him forward and he kissed her gently, planting his free hand into the blankets at her waist before breaking off that kiss and wrapping that arm around her to pull her against him. "How long will you stay?" She asked him, palm laying flat against his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat behind it.

"Until you fall asleep," he offered.

"King and Queen of Maddie's fort," she teased.

"Have I successfully woo'd then?" John mocked.

But she nodded against him, sighing and nuzzling closer, pushing her left foot between his ankles. "You have successfully woo'd," she told him quietly, taking several long slow breaths against him before adding, "I think my daughter is quite smitten with you as well."

He laughed, "She has her mother's terrible taste in men."

For a moment he went rigid, but then she giggled and shook her head. "Nah," she said softly, and he expected a joke to follow, but she relaxed, eyes shutting entirely. Drifting closer to sleep comfortably against him. He lifted her up, knowing it was unnecessary; knowing there was no need to take her to her bed. He smiled when she clung to him as they made their way down the hall and to the bedroom at the end and he laid her down gently, fingers brushing through the thick locks, glancing around at the details her mind had remembered.

"Goodnight, Clara," he told her, kissing her forehead and breaking the connection.

It was morning when she opened her eyes. A Tuesday, she knew, and she smiled, still feeling the kindness of his lips on her skin; still hearing the comforting tone of his voice. She hugged at herself beneath the thick sheets, nestling into them before looking to the clock and seeing the numbers shining back at her. Just enough time, she knew, pulling herself out of that cocoon and into a shower. Clara drove herself to the hospital and she moved through the familiar hallways and into the bedroom where she found her daughter, as always, lying in that bed.

"Good morning, Maddie," she called lightly.

She smiled, even without the response, looking her girl over before going to turn on the tele up in the corner, finding the cartoons and clicking the volume up before closing the door to the room. Clara pulled a breakfast bar from her bag and she sat down in the chair beside her daughter, reaching out for the pale hand that lay against the white sheets. After a while of watching a cat and a mouse chase each other around and an arrogant little piglet learn to share, _again_ , she turned to look at the girl lying there.

"I think that was our best fort yet," she told Maddie, crumpling the wrapper held tightly in her hand and standing to toss it into a bin, looking down at the empty take away container there, knowing her father had been by.

The door opened slowly and Clara glanced up, surprised to see Rory offering a meek smile and a nod to Maddie, explaining, "Thought I'd come by, check on her."

Clara glanced through the door and asked, "You work this ward? I thought you were strictly emergency, few floors down."

Entering the room, he scratched at the back of his head nervously, then held a hand out to her, telling her awkwardly, "Yeah, that's true," his hand came down with his nod, "But before I'm officially on the clock, or when I'm on break, I can sort of wander about and since she's my niece," he smiled up at her, "I check on her." He nodded again, "Peace of mind, for me, and for Amy."

Approaching him slowly as he looked back to Maddie, eyes reddening slightly, Clara understood – Rory, in spite of all of his medical training and in spite of everything her daughter's doctors had ever told them about her condition... Rory believed one day that little girl would shrug off this endless sleep and be sitting up in that bed asking for her dolls. Rory believed one day she would yawn up at him, comforted that in a scary hospital, there still stood a familiar face.

"Thank you," Clara said simply.

He smiled back with a shrug, breathing, "Well..."

But Clara stopped him with a tight hug, one he sighed into as she breathed again, "Thank you."

He nodded into her and explained quietly, "We're all rooting for her, Clara, all of us nurses here." He held her warmly and stated firmly, "She will wake up."

Clara laughed as she pulled away, turning to look at Maddie as she wiped her tears away, one hand still holding to Rory's arm, "Whether or not that's true," she turned, "And I hope it one day will be," Clara smiled, "It means a lot, knowing you're here for her."

Nodding, he shifted towards her monitors and checked them quietly, reaching to give the girl's hand a squeeze before he bent to kiss her forehead, offering Clara another quick hug before excusing himself to start his shift. She understood she had to leave soon, so she flicked off the television and settled the remote down on a table beside the bed, looking over her daughter.

"Your life is full of wonderful people who love you very much," she told her, leaning forward to kiss each of her cheeks, and then her forehead, and finally her tiny nose. "But none more than me, ok," she sighed, fingers brushing her bangs back and watching them flutter back down dutifully. Clara laughed, "I'll stop by later, we'll have dinner together, alright?" She waited, watching her face before giving her hand a squeeze and sighing.

Clara turned away hesitantly to pick up her bag, grunting at the weight of the school work she'd marked the night before, and she paused at the door, head bowed before turning back to take one last look at Maddie, lying comfortably – she hoped – in that bed. Bottom lip trembling, she left the room to make her way to the car, knowing already she'd be late and she'd have a Headmaster at the front of her classroom, waiting with a scowl.

And she missed the tiniest shift of those little fingers, trying desperately to hold her mother's hand.


	20. Chapter 20

John didn't get to talk at lunch, an awkward situation within a dream sequence took Jack's lunch from him, but once the shift ended entirely and they were both trudging away from the building into the impending sunrise, exhausted and in need of a good meal, Jack gave him a look. John knew the look well. Firstly, it told him the other man was famished; secondly, it said the mishap wasn't of the happiest kind and reprimands had probably been added to his already thick folder; and thirdly, it argued they weren't going to avoid the talk they'd been avoiding.

"Two of the breakfast platters," John ordered for him as they shuffled into their seats in the booth, "Pot of coffee, and, if possibly, bring the toast out for my friend early – he's had a rough night."

The woman nodded and offered a polite smile, knowing all too well where they had come from. As she bustled off, John looked to Jack, seeing him slumped back in the seat across from him, staring into him before releasing a long frustrated sigh. One, he knew, that said, simply: _speak_.

He chuckled, more of a breath of amusement than anything else as he wrapped his hands in front of himself before stating blankly, "It's possible I've fallen in love with her."

The leather of the seat across from him groaned unceremoniously as Jack straightened and then bent closer to shake his head and gasp, "What?"

Hands clasping and unclasping against the faux-marbled tabletop, John shook his head and shrugged, body a jumbled mess of emotions unable to express themselves properly. "We were intimate in the dream world, yes," he admitted, answering the question from before. "But this isn't about that; not some school-boy fantasy driven by whims of the erotic."

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as toast slid in front of him and he grabbed a slice, taking a large bite to chew, hand waving in circles. Encouraging John to tell him more, but John wasn't sure he knew how to explain. There was just the way she spoke, and the smile she offered, and the laugh that tickled something in his soul and made him want to make her laugh more. There were the concerned looks and the way she seemed genuinely interested in him on both planes, not just for the escape he offered, but for what he'd been through, for the person behind each carefully crafted facade.

As though she saw through each, accepting the man underneath.

Even if she was oblivious to the fact it was the same man.

"She's perfect," he stated, dropping back. "Not in the sense that she's perfectly perfect – she's absolutely flawed and damaged – but in that everything about her speaks to me in ways no one ever has before and it both enrages me and enraptures me, and I keep telling myself I should cut it off – absolutely no good could come of this – but at the same time, I don't want to let that feeling go." His eyes widened, looking to Jack as he began a second slice, "Jack, she's quicksand."

Jack nodded slowly, mumbling, "People die in quicksand."

Ignoring he friend, John explained, "Last night the three of us huddled together in a fort made of pillows and blankets and stools and chairs and we did nothing more than enjoy each other's company," he smiled, fingers finding the edge of a napkin to fiddle with, "And Saturday we watched a movie, some inconsequential nonsense we found on the tele, and ordinarily I would have felt awkward, nervous, wanting to end the visit, but when she left, everything suddenly felt empty, hollow. Incomprehensibly so."

Swallowing roughly, Jack laid his palms out on the table, staring at the black and white patterns between them, and he shook his head, telling him, "I'm gonna have to be the one to point out the obvious here, John, but are you sure it isn't just the attention? I mean, you live a pretty solitary life. Mostly, and no offense, you're kind of an asshole to people. I don't know if that's how you were before Rose, but I've watched you reject woman after woman at work and at the pub and in this very cafe."

"They're only interested in what they can get," he groaned. "Collected man in a suit, presenting the option of a stable father figure, more than anything else, to a wayward child in need of that stability, but incapable of bringing it upon themselves. They're looking for permission to grow up, permission I'm not willing to be the one to give; or they're looking for the request to change so they can continually rebel against that request, thereby justifying their actions..."

"Spare me the 'younguns' speech, John." He shrugged, "Clara's looking for that same stability, but for all different reasons."

His eyes came up to meet the stern set across from him. "She needs stability, yes; she's had her life turned upside-down by a series of terrible events culminating in her child being taken from her in the worst of ways – the death of a child would be favorable to some than watching them rot away their days in a bed, just waiting for the sickness that finally takes them."

"John," the other man warned, "Are you sure you're not just falling into this head first because of your own daughter, your own wife," he paused, taking a breath before ending, "Your own pain?"

Looking to the table John nodded, because he'd considered it. He knew Clara's case struck a chord with him because of the similarities to his own tragedy, but he knew that wasn't it. He shook his head, "Maybe we connect because of it; maybe we understand a bit more... see something in each other's souls that most would overlook."

"Souls," Jack stated on a laugh, lifting his hands as their breakfast was delivered, "I think you've been alone too long, John – need to get out more so you're not giving sad speeches about young people's psychological problems, and... _souls_."

One brow lifting as he looked to his pancakes, John replied, "Perhaps."

"Perhaps," Jack repeated, watching his friend eat slowly, his mind working over the woman in question in a way the other man generally reserved for political issues, Jack thought, important stuff. Maybe, Jack considered, Clara happened to be important stuff. The idea stopped the sausage on its way to his mouth, held firmly within his fingers, working over a thought. "Go with it and don't worry too much about the details of duality."

Lifting his eyes to Jack's, John asked quietly, "How do you mean?"

Laughing, he replied, "Romance her in these dreams, play with her kid and give her that father figure, give Clara whatever you think she needs and then, in the real world, do the same – just go with it."

On a grin, John stated, "I expected you to tell me to shag her in as many ways as possible, but you're honestly not going to give me some morality speech, either way."

"No," Jack waved the sausage, "She does something to you; something I've never seen anyone do to you and it's actually quite refreshing in a terrifying way."

"What's that?" John questioned.

He smiled and shifted just before the foot swung out to kick him, listening to it connect roughly with the booth as the man across from him winced. "I wasn't going to say a boner," Jack groaned, before shrugging and telling him simply, "As odd as it looks on your stupid old face, Clara makes you happy."

Looking to his plate of food, stomach rumbling with hunger, but turning with an odd nausea, John managed a quick nod, "So I keep up the lies; I keep up the two lives; and I satisfy her in both." He pointed as a warning before continuing, "A few days ago you said this would end badly."

"Oh, it still will," Jack laughed, "But for a little while, I think you'll both get what you need, and after everything goes to hell, and the smoke clears, I think you'll both be better for it."

Head tilting, John looked to the other man and he admitted, "That's the most sensible thing you've ever said and you managed to say it with a straight face."

Feigning embarrassment, Jack turned away with a smile, one hand waving as he gasped, "Oh, John, you flatter me," before straightening and asking, "Are you gonna eat your sausage?"

In a school lunch room, not terribly far away, Amy shrugged her shoulders repeatedly for a minute, eating her sandwich and reaching across to twist Clara's bag of crisps from the vending machine to eat as she mulled over what her friend had told her. Taking a long breath, Clara waited. She knew if Amy was thinking on something, it was probably better not to interrupt her, because generally the other woman was forthright with her opinion. Generally there wasn't a second thought to be had to convince her otherwise on what she was thinking. So if she was thinking, there was something to think about, and that made Clara's stomach turn nervously as she sat still, watching her.

"So," she finally said, chewing and swallowing and lifting another crisp, "Let me get this schedule you've decided on right. You're seeing the Doctor on Monday nights, and then spending Tuesday night just with Maddie, then you're genuinely sleeping on Wednesday and Thursday night, spending Friday, Saturday and Sunday night just with Maddie, but you're going to have lunches with this John fellow on Saturday's during the day – have I got this right?"

The other woman narrowed her eyes in confusion as Clara nodded, "Yes," then she tilted her head and offered, "I think it's a schedule that makes everyone happy."

"How..." Amy began, eyes shifting to a spot at her left, "Does this make everyone happy?"

"Well," Clara sighed, "Everyone wants me to take a few days off, so I am, during the week, which helps me do my job and it gets you, Rory, and my dad, and my Gran, off my back." She nodded with Amy. "But it still lets me spend time with Maddie, which is good for both me and Maddie," Clara waited as Amy popped another crisp into her mouth to chew and nod, "And it gives me time with Mr. Smith in the dream world, and John in the real world."

"Providing two safe shags," Amy offered, picking out and pointing a crisp.

Clara slapped it out of her hand and pursed her lips, correcting, "Providing me with time to be an adult, with people who aren't constantly coddling me."

"Cuddling is definitely better," the red-head teased.

"Shut up," Clara spat, lifting her bag of crisps to place in front of the friend devouring them all anyways. Sighing, she looked around the half-empty staffroom and told Amy honestly, "I never really got much time for a life – went from school to work to motherhood and now all of this," she exhaled roughly, "There weren't dates or movies or dinners, just me and him and then _he_ became _that_."

Looking across from her, Clara could see the look of confusion Amy was giving her, and she waited while the woman chewed, until she finally asked, "Why don't you say his name?" Amy grabbed the bag in front of her, poking around as she reiterated, "You never say his name anymore."

"You want me to say it?" Clara challenged. She gripped her hands tightly in her lap and lifted her chin slightly, telling her, "Harry Saxon was a monster who doesn't deserve to have his name said aloud and sure as hell didn't deserve to force that name upon his only child. Harry Saxon is a manipulative bastard who spent years lying to me and abusing me and died trying to kill me and that wonderful child of his out of some psychotic vengeance over our custody and alimony agreement." Clara clenched her jaw, feeling her bottom lip trembling as she continued, "Harry Saxon will not be the master of me, nor my daughter, and erasing his name from our lives – refusing to say his name – is my way of letting the world know he doesn't exist to me." She pinched her thumb to keep from crying as she finished, "I can say his name, Amy, I simply won't. I have, at the very least, that power over him now."

Setting the bag down, Amy nodded slowly and told her quietly, "I'm sorry, Clara, and please don't take this the wrong way, but sometimes it seems like not saying his name is his way of silencing you." She shrugged, "You should be able to curse that name any time you like and one day your daughter should be able to too for what he put you both through."

Bowing her head, Clara shook it and explained, "At some point she'll know she spent the first three years of her life as Madeline Saxon and she'll ask why I ever allowed it."

Amy pushed back her chair on a loud skid and she moved around the table, bending next to Clara to take her hands tightly within hers just as Clara began to cry, and she told her quietly after scowling at those beginning to turn their way, "You'll tell her the truth – you didn't know the kind of man he was and when you found out, you left. You'll tell her how her uncle Rory and her granddad went and helped you load everything into their cars and how you spent four months living with us when she was just a baby. You'll tell her that in spite of that name and that repulsive man being her father, you raised her to be honest and kind and filled with so much love she gave it freely to everyone around her." Amy pulled her into a hug as she whispered, "And you tell her he's _just_ a man."

Nodding into her shoulder, Clara whimpered as her eyes closed, hating that she sounded so weak, "I just want life to feel normal, and it can't ever feel normal after what he did."

"It will," Amy promised, shifting back and dragging the chair behind her closer to sit beside Clara, "It'll be crazy and different from what other people's normal is, but trust me – you do not want other people's normalcy." On a huff, Amy explained, "It's boring."

Clara managed a laugh and she wiped at her eyes lightly, nodding, then she asked, "Should I do this, Amy? Should I rescind on the Doctor's offer; should I take a step back from John?"

"No," Amy told her firmly. She shook her head and Clara watched her bright eyes fix on her. The joke that normally sat there – the amusement with everything and anything around her – was gone, replaced only by a heartfelt apprehension for her friend as she explained, "I know what you're thinking: you're using them both and it's not fair to them and there's no way it could end with either of them on good terms."

Clara looked away guiltily.

"It won't," Amy told her on a nod, "We both know you're gonna get too attached because you're emotional and stubborn, and then things are gonna get weird. Then they'll probably fight over you, which I hope," her eyes closed as she shook her head and breathed, "Oh God, do I hope we're there to see that," while Clara laughed lightly and gave her a small shove before she finished, "But you need this sort of crazy in your life sometimes. I never would have met Rory without a little crazy and we certainly wouldn't still be together if we didn't occasionally fly by the seat of our pants."

"Yeah," she sighed in response.

"Oi," Amy warned, "My turn to be judgmental."

Clara laughed.

"But honestly, Clara, what you'll gain is so much better than what you'll lose."

Leaning back in the chair beside her, Amy snatched up the crisps and poked around inside the bag, plucking one out to pop into her mouth as Clara considered her words before asking, "What do I gain then, since you're playing therapist."

Nodding, Amy told her honestly, "Ego boost, for one – and I know," she pointed a crisp at her, "You love a good ego boost." Clara rolled her eyes. "Aside from that though, you get two sets of ears to listen to whatever you have to say and Maddie gains one of those sets for a time. The Doctor sounds like an idiot, but he's got a good heart and he's sort of magic, or whatever," she groaned. "And John," she sighed, "He's a real person, and I know you like to say the dream world is real enough, but it's not real, so it's good to have someone you can look at in the eye; someone who can actually hold your hand; someone who can call you on your shit if you give it."

"That's a gained thing?"

"Yes," Amy shot, "You need to be called on your shit sometimes, Clara."

"Because you don't?" She teased.

Shaking her head, Amy admitted, "I let you slide sometimes because I love you and I know you."

Clara turned to her lunch, understanding what her friend meant all too clearly – because Amy did ridiculous things sometimes, or said terrible things, and Clara merely soaked it in and let her move on, knowing she was having a mood and didn't entirely mean it. Because Clara knew Amy was right and there were so many things she'd done and said herself over the years that she should have been reprimanded for, but her friend forgave it without saying another word, knowing exactly the things that had triggered those meltdowns.

Looking back at her friend, chewing slowly and staring down into the bag with a thought occupying her mind, Clara asked quietly, "So what do I lose?"

Amy set the bag down on the table and shrugged, telling her honestly, "A little bit of your heart."

She managed a weak laugh, turning the bag on the table to find it empty as she asked, "How's that?"

"You like both of them, and the more time you spend with each of them, the further you'll fall for them, no matter what you pretend on the outside for show, Clara Oswald, and eventually you'll have to face the reality of the fantasy, and the reality will quickly become all too real." Nodding and flicking the bag that sat on the table, Amy surmised, "Either they'll break your heart, or you'll break theirs, but either way, it's gonna hurt."

"So should I stop then?" Clara asked with a shrug, "If that's the inevitable outcome."

"Absolutely not," Amy commanded and to Clara's raised brow, she told her, "You can't hide away in a hole, afraid of getting your heart broken – it's gonna break, sweetie." She leaned back again and added, "Might as well start with the stabilizers on."

Clara sighed, watching Amy pick up the bag. "You ate them all," she told her sadly.

"That I did," Amy responded with an oddly proud smile.

Gathering her lunch together, Clara nodded to her and offered with a smirk and a sigh, "And you should probably go pee on a stick."


	21. Chapter 21

The doorbell rang sharply at noon and John stopped his pacing of the living room, turning to stare at the door, as though maybe he'd simply made the sound up in his mind, but there it went again. Looking to the ground, he took a long breath, eyes closed, and tried to remember the pep talk he'd given himself earlier, knowing he had to be calm and collected or she'd find some excuse to walk away. There were probably plenty, stacking up in her mind, the last thing he needed was to add to them just enough to tip the scales.

Clara knocked four more times timidly and John straightened, striding towards the door and putting on a grin before swinging it open to look down on those large eyes and uncertain lop-sided smile of hers. "I wasn't sure you were home," she allowed, then teased, "Thought you'd run out on me."

Taking a step back, he gestured inside and she stepped past him, turning back as he explained, "Sorry, in the bedroom tidying up."

Grimacing, he watched the small nod of her head as her brow dropped. "So," she breathed, "What's on the menu?"

His smile shifted then, softening as he pointed and he told her simply, "It's a surprise."

Clara giggled lightly, "When does it arrive?"

"Part of the surprise," he stated.

She pointed back to the door with her thumb, "It's a surprise when it arrives? What sort of take away is this? Doesn't sound like very good service."

Bowing his head shyly, John explained, "I haven't ordered take-away."

"That was the deal," Clara pointed out.

"And you said you'd bring dessert," he retorted with a nod to her empty hands.

She went red, then looked to the side and told him, "I thought we'd go out, get ice cream or something, better than anything I could make, or some store bought pie or pudding."

Shrugging, John laughed as he said, "I had the same thought," he shook his head to her confused look, hands coming up as he clarified, "Thought we might go for a walk. There are a few nice stands on the weekend along my jogging route; thought we'd be spontaneous."

Shifting her feet to show off her trainers, Clara smiled and replied brightly, "Suppose it was a good thing we both had the same idea then."

He laughed nervously, hands clasping together in front of him, and he caught the odd look she gave him just before he turned away, going to grab his wallet to push into the back of his jeans before they moved to the door. They rode the lift down quietly and he was tempted to ask her what she was thinking, but he was afraid it'd be the obvious – he knew the dream persona he'd made up still carried with him some of John's quirks and mannerisms and Clara might have noticed that particular one: his hands coming together tightly just in front of his heart.

He imagined she simply thought it was strange. John convinced himself she'd chalked it up to coincidence because she was watching the numbers light up as they made their way down and once they were outside, Clara following beside him on the sidewalk, she was simply enjoying the cool air and the gentle breeze. The fall battling it out with a winter desperately wanting to take an early hold.

"I like to go for a jog sometimes, clears my head," he told her, for a moment wondering if he'd told her before, feeling stupid for not remembering, "With my schedule, the paths are generally clear during my off hours and I can enjoy them without the usual clutter of foot traffic."

She smirked and looked to the ground a moment before side-eying him to say quietly, "You mean, people?"

"Yes," he nodded, "People." He looked out over the others strolling about. Partners holding hands, parents pushing prams, and children skipping over cracks as they laughed. "I'm not very fond of crowds of people," he looked to her and assured, "Today is nice though – I think the threat of rains has kept the bulk of them away."

She huffed a laugh, "Yeah, we picked a day with a good chance of storms to take a walk."

"I'd prefer to dwell on the great minds think alike portion of this particular outing than part where the great minds didn't think to consider the weather," he teased, watching her laugh. Sighing calmly because she laughed. He watched her nod as they continued to walk, a smile nestled on her lips as the buildings slowly gave way to parks and he could see the food stands ahead. They were out in force on weekends, he knew, some trendy thing with the young people, and he was excited to take Clara.

They perused the options and he discovered she was fairly open-minded to everything except hot dogs because, "Something about them, I just think back on everything I read when I was younger about how they're basically ground up left over bits of parts of animals..." she trailed, disgusted look wrinkling her face in a way that made him laugh.

John suggested sushi, and he watched the apprehension shift to interest as they stepped up to the window where they were greeted by a polite chef and a colorful assortment of ingredients. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her examining licenses on the glass and inspecting the trays that sat within ice just inside before she merely nodded and told him to continue surprising her. The thought made him smirk as he ordered, seeing her sending a message to someone on her mobile before pocketing the item with a smile – one he found reassuring.

They found a bench and settled the box between them and he watched her deftly pluck a roll with her chopsticks, choosing not to dip it in any sauce, but to bite off half and mull it over while he waited. "Verdict?" He questioned softly.

Her free hand came up to cover her mouth, and after a moment, she decided, "Good choice."

He ate a few pieces, watching pedestrians pass them without so much as a glance. Turning back to her, he offered, "It's nice, being out with someone – even if the words are sparse."

Clara smiled and he could see the blush staining her cheeks, "I'm sorry, it's been a long week, and honestly, I'm a little nervous."

"Why would you be nervous?" He questioned, twisting to face her.

Her head toggled and she admitted, "Well, this is a date, isn't it? I mean, the other times maybe a little as well, but this is _definitively_ a date."

John stared. He swallowed and then took a breath and he tried to smile as he told her, "If you want it to be," and he nodded, "Yes."

He could see was gripping the chopsticks tightly, anxiously, and she asked him, "Yeah, I want it to be; a _third_ date – is that ok?"

"Perfectly," he said simply. Then he nodded, "So, long week, do tell."

She laughed, head tilting and one eyebrow rising as she poked the remaining rolls. "Well, the general chaos of children. I work in a primary school, six and seven year olds, and they mostly behave, but occasionally there are mishaps or tantrums or soiled knickers from someone who hasn't completely been potty trained, as was the case Thursday. Which meant an hour of consoling the poor boy and convincing his classmates not to tease him about it..."

"At six?" John gasped.

Clara's brow lifted as she nodded and repeated, "At six, yes."

He shook his head. "And here I thought the worse you had to worry about in school was a disgruntled parent."

"Oh," Clara gestured with her chopsticks, "We have plenty of those come Parent Night, wanting to know why their angel wasn't simply given stars and good marks for the mediocrity." She shook her head, "It's a challenge, like anything else. I aim to improve them by the end of each term and thankfully they do."

On a smile, he stated confidently, "You're a great teacher."

"Some days," she sighed, "I just feel like a mum to twenty five six year olds."

"Only affirms the fact: you're a great teacher," he said, watching the way she smiled, a bit embarrassed at the compliment, but somewhat grateful to be hearing it. He imagined she didn't hear it often, as teachers often didn't.

"And my friend's trying to get pregnant, but it's not going as well as she'd planned," Clara added on a sigh as he popped another piece of sushi into his mouth and nearly choked. She merely shrugged, "I thought maybe Amy might be, she's been a bit moody the past week, keeps eating anything I don't immediately eat myself," Clara finally looked up at him, hearing him cough. "You alright?"

"Sorry," he managed, "Just, forget you're in that age, it's been quite some time since I've known someone trying to have children."

She stared, biting her lip, and then looked away and he frowned. He'd reminded her of their age gap and now it was on her mind, a detail he knew would put a dent in any sort of relationship they could have. John gripped his chopsticks and he listened to the light rumbling overhead, looking to the greying skies and taking a long breath of humid air. He glanced to her and saw her doing the same, trying to judge just how much time they had and whether they should head back or if they could continue a little longer. He wondered if that meant she wanted to head back, or if she was sad she couldn't stay longer, and he wanted to offer to take her to the cinema, or a museum nearby, just to spend a little more time with her.

"Did you ever think about having more children?" She questioned lightly, then added delicately, "After your wife and daughter passed."

Considering it, John shrugged and told her sadly, "The idea of loving anyone was hard enough after the fire, thinking on children became a sort of bruise on my conscious that I tried to avoid."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Clara told him honestly.

He turned again, looking at the way she was tapping the edge of the last piece of sushi in the box with her chopstick, thinking on something that wasn't eating, and he questioned, "And you?"

She laughed and admitted, "Yeah," she shrugged and looked up at him, "I never doubted I wanted more children, it was worrying if I could trust their father that became the problem."

Clara looked away, towards a crying toddler and his attentive mother and John watched the way her eyes watered slightly, knew it was some cross between the pain of missing her own child and the pain of not knowing if she'd ever have more, with a dash of not knowing if it would ever be right to have more if her first wasn't with her. They were the feelings he avoided by not thinking on children at all.

"I understand finding someone to trust with a new life is difficult – finding someone to love who loves you in return is difficult enough, but trust... you deserve that, Clara, and maybe one day you will find that person." He smiled when she turned, giving him a curious stare. "One day maybe you'll run into just the right person. One who will be there for and your daughter, and any other children you might have with them." He nodded, closing the box with the uneaten piece. "You're too good of a person to not find that, if that's what you truly want."

She remained silent, holding the chopsticks tightly in her hand as he took the box and stood and John waited for her to slowly pull herself from the seat at his side, going with him towards a bin where she stopped him and plucked the last piece out with her fingers, taking a bite and then wordlessly offering him the last half. He laughed sheepishly with her, head toggling as he sighed before he finally accepted it, beginning the walk back towards his building.

They were nearly there when it began to rain. A slow sprinkle they chuckled about that quickly turned into a monsoon that elicited a quick and playful scream from his companion as they ran along the sidewalk together and pushed into the front doors to jog to the lift, each of them breathing heavily as it rose. He smiled to himself, and then looking down at her dark hair, clinging to her face as she grinned and he wondered how long it'd been since she'd smiled like that. For some devious thought in her head she kept secret from him as they moved along the hallway towards his door.

They stepped inside and he frowned when she shivered, telling her quietly, "Come on, I'll get you something dry to change into."

She followed him towards his bedroom, arms wrapped around herself, and he plucked up a set of sweats, handing them to her and gesturing towards the bathroom, watching her shyly take the clothes and close the door behind her. John pushed a hand through his hair, grinning idiotically before realizing he too was soaked to the core, and he pulled off his jacket and shirt and tugged the wallet from his jeans, letting it fall onto his dresser with a thick thud, hoping it hadn't gotten too wet. He closed the door and changed into dry clothes, thinking about the woman in the other room.

Moving back into the hallway, he knocked lightly. "It should only take a half hour or so to dry those," he told her, leaning into the doorframe. "Would you like tea, or coffee?"

After a moment's silence, the door cracked open and she handed him a wet bundle, responding bashfully, "Coffee would be fantastic, thanks."

He went to retrieve his own clothes and then dropped them into his dryer, hearing the groan of his couch under her weight and listening to the silence. What was she thinking, he wondered, sitting in some man's flat in some man's clothes. Was she uncomfortable? She didn't seem so, he thought as he began to brew the coffee, pulling two mugs from his cupboard and calling out, "If you'd like to turn on the tele, or listen to some music, feel free."

There was a small laugh, one that put an odd warmth in his stomach and turned his lips up, and after a moment he heard the crackle of his stereo coming to life just before some old moody tune began to waft through the flat. His head fell back slightly, listening to the saxophone and he closed his eyes and hummed along, dropping his head forward only when she knocked on the doorframe of his small kitchen and he met her amused stare with a shrug.

Clara nodded and surmised, "Favorite of yours?"

"Yes," he stated simply, smiling as he poured the coffee into the mugs, "I was always into jazz, never quite understood the hyperkinetic synthesized tinker box music that permeates the industry today," he handed her a mug, "Forgive me, but the old-fashioned route of instruments and hand-written music will always find my favor."

Taking the mug he handed her, Clara offered honestly, "Agreed."

They moved back out into the living room and she went to the window, looking out at the rain falling in sheets on the city as John observed her. She seemed tiny, standing before the monstrosity of the buildings just outside, even more so in his sweats, the arms and pants of which he could see had been folded several times to accommodate her diminutive stature. He smiled, pushing his left hand into his pocket as he brought the mug up to sip, watching her take a drink slowly, fingers rounding the brown mug for warmth, and he watched her take a long breath, exhaling it onto the glass to fog it slightly before she shifted back with a small humph of a laugh. He was surprised to think she belonged there, tucked into his home, and he pushed the thought away with a shake of his head as he concentrated on the hum of the dryer in the other room.

"Shouldn't take more than a half hour," he reiterated quietly, striding lazily to her side.

Glancing up at him, she smiled and then nudged him, "Thoughts," she told him simply, "Spill."

"You're short," he stated matter-of-factly, eying the rain. Silently thankful she'd chosen to remain in spite of it as he took a long sip of hot coffee and smiled.

She laughed and replied, "Just seems that way because you're so tall."

Shaking his head, he tapped her bare toes with his own. "No," he told her, "You're short."

"Fine," she laughed, "I'm short." Then she nudged him again, "That can't be all you're thinking."

He looked out at the rain and lamented, "We didn't get dessert."

Clara winced and he heard her hiss and he knew – it had been her offer, her responsibility, and she'd forgotten it. Turning, she moved forward to set her mug down on the coffee table and reached out, hand waving him towards her as she nodded and smiled, head tilting towards the radio, "Dance instead?"

Laughing, he pointed with his free hand, "You want me to dance?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "Come on." Then she laughed, "It's slow jazz music, anyone can dance to it, so don't give me some excuse that you can't."

Shrugging, he left his mug next to hers and then took her hand, gripping her cool palm delicately as his other hand rounded her waist and he held her carefully, beginning to sway with her. "Being honest with you, it's been a very long time since I've danced." He smiled down at her, "My friend Jack invites me to clubs every so often, says they're of the gentleman's sort – none of the drivel of insanity he knows I wouldn't tolerate – but I know ultimately he isn't interested in dancing. Somehow he imagines neither am I."

"You should go with him one night," Clara replied, "Might do you good."

His eyes widened as he gasped, "Is my dancing so atrocious?"

Clara laughed, momentarily ducking her head so her forehead rested against his chest, and he hoped she couldn't feel how hard his heart was thumping there, and then she raised it, shaking it as she explained, "Your books are worn from multiple reads; your carpet bears the marks of your pacing; and your windows are too clean – get out every once in a while, for more than just a jog."

John could see the way her cheeks went pink as he stared into her, as he pondered just how she'd noticed so quickly what others would overlook. He wondered if it was some teaching skill, or a mothering one, or if she'd simply grown accustomed to examining for the details. He smiled, nodded slowly, and told her, "Jack'll be pleased you said so."

She inched closer, close enough that he felt the rise and fall of her chest against his when she breathed, and she asked, "Do I make you nervous?"

They stopped as she waited for his answer and he looked down at her wide eyes and the way she chewed the inside of her lip. Did she make him nervous? Was there an answer that could satisfy that question? Of course she did, but she did so in delicious ways that tingled up his spine and stood his hairs on end. John's fingers shifted against her waist and he understood honesty was the only good response and so he held his breath a moment and then sighed.

"You terrify me."

"Why?" Clara asked, and he imagined she might have been offended, but there'd been no such shift in her features to show it. There remained a simple curiosity and he concentrated on the way her fingers were curled firmly over his; the way her body rested against him; the way her breaths were steady in spite of the weight of the moment.

John nodded and told her honestly, "Because you're seeking friendship, a simple solidarity between two people who've both lost so much and who both understand what that loss means, how it feels, how it sits in a heart and torments a soul and unfortunately I possibly fancy you a bit more than I should." He smiled weakly. "And right now we're standing in a proximity to one another that might be considered far more intimate than two people should stand for a third date, unless my remembrance of time and appropriate intimacy is perhaps naive for today's younger generations..."

"John," she sighed, interrupting him.

"Yes," he responded simply.

Inching up slightly, she breathed, "Just go with it."

"Yes, of course," he managed just before her lips captured his.

His grip on her waist tightened and her hand slipped out of his, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair as he released a small sigh as his body shivered. John let his other hand drop to her hip and he pulled her closer instinctively, bending into her to deepen the kiss, wondering if just going with it was such a good idea. Except he could hear Jack in his head, scolding him against doing anything else. Because, Jack would say, he deserved whatever Clara was willing to offer; because, Jack would point out, it would be rude to decline.

Slapping away that voice in his head, he stumbled slightly as she began leading him towards the couch, turning and tugging him down on her and he landed with one knee between hers, helping his elbows holding up his weight while crushing her mouth with his again, listening to the whimper she released just before her own knee came up to put a gentle knowing pressure in a just right spot to make his fingers curl into the edges of the couch cushion at either side of her head.

Pulling away, he looked down at her flushed face and her hair splayed out over the black of his couch and he registered the stirrings of arousal pressing at the fleece of his sweats. He swallowed roughly and watched her small smile as she looked away, embarrassed to be stared at, he knew, with such lust in his eyes – because he wanted nothing more than to devour her inch by inch and for whatever reasons, he knew she wanted the same. The right corner of his mouth lifted slightly and he lowered his brow.

"Just go with it," he repeated, dropping back hungrily down on her.


	22. Chapter 22

His body was warmly curled around hers and Clara could hear his soft snoring against the back of her head as she smiled, listening to the rain still tapping away at the large window. For a few moments she enjoyed the solidity of him against her, opening her eyes slowly to look over their mugs, still full of now-cold coffee, and the pristine table they sat on. That, she thought to herself shyly, actually just happened. Amy would be proud, she knew, and the thought made her blush as she recalled all of what had happened and how she would never give her friend the details she longed for.

The way he'd playfully stripped her of her sweats, seemingly surprised she was naked underneath – needing to be reminded her knickers were soaked along with the rest of her cloths, tumbling about in a dryer. The way he'd slowly kissed his way from her bare knee down to the space between her thighs, tasting at her until she sat up and grabbed hold of his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss, that salinity of her arousal still clinging to his lips. Clara's body burned at the memory of how she'd slowly pushed him back and worked him out of his clothes, watching his eyes close and his heavy brow knot as she took hold of him.

Her smile was instant, thinking on how he'd lifted up slowly and bent himself over her, pressing her back into the couch to shift her knees aside, teasing at her with a knowing thumb until she called his name and then laughed with him as it echoed through the flat. And she'd blushed when he'd slid into her on a sigh, body rocking into her until she was gasping and then moaning, and then giggling as she stilled him and glanced around.

"Do you think your neighbors can hear us?" She'd questioned lightly.

He'd looked down at her darkly and uttered, "Let them."

Clara shifted and then slowly sat up on the edge of the couch, plucking his shirt off the ground to pull over her head before turning to her right to look down at his peaceful face, a rest well deserved, she thought with a sly grin. Palming his cheek, she watched the small way his lips lifted and she was tempted to wake him, but instead reality took her breath and she stood, finding her purse to slip her mobile out and then quickly make her way to his bathroom, dialing Amy as she settled herself nervously on the edge of his tub, her thumb bitten tightly between her teeth as she waited.

"Yeah, what, hey," she heard loudly as she winced, tugging her thumb free to look down at the marks she'd left on it before taking a long breath and then Amy asked urgently, "Clara, are you ok?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know. I don't know, Amy, I mean, I should be, right? We had a great lunch and then we had a great shag and I should be perfectly calm and collected and fine, but I can't..."

She heard a shushing and she imagined Rory was nearby and she imagined Amy's pale skin must have gone a shade lighter, because instead of teasing her about her tone, her friend stated firmly, "Take a deep breath and hold it a moment, and then let it out," she repeated the words and Clara closed her eyes, trying her best to follow the orders, but her body was now trembling.

The other woman continued to try to calm her, and as she tried to take deep breaths she could hear Amy through the hand she'd cupped over the phone, telling Rory, "She's just remembered she's not on birth control," and then there came a mumbled reply before a thunk and Amy's hiss, "Don't tell her the odds, she thinks she defies odds. Part of why she's having a panic attack, now shut up. Shut. No. Shut up. Go."

"Amy," Clara breathed, opening her eyes to look at the door a few feet away. Continuing in a hushed tone, she spoke quickly, eyes widening, "What should I do? I don't know what to do? What if that wasn't a good idea?" She pressed a hand to her forehead, "That wasn't a good idea, was it? He'll think this is serious and maybe it's not serious," her hand came away, "Is it serious? Is that what a shag means these days? Isn't everyone going on about a casual shag with a bloke and how it means nothing, but I don't know, oh my God."

"Clara," Amy shouted, "Shut up."

Pinching her lips together, she nodded at the cold bathroom space and waited.

"What you're gonna do is get your things and excuse yourself," Amy told her calmly. "Make something up – say you had plans with us for dinner... you do realize it's almost five?"

Shaking her head, Clara let out a breath and then admitted, "With the exhaustion and the rains outside, we fell asleep."

There came a laugh through the phone, a light one that made her smile just before Amy stated, "That's sweet; you're an idiot."

Hand gripping her bare knee, seeing the light welt he'd put just inside of her left thigh, Clara nodded and asked quietly, "Just up and leave? Just like that?"

"You hadn't planned on staying longer than lunch, had you?" Amy questioned.

"No," Clara told her, shaking her head.

"He still asleep?" Amy inquired.

"Yes," she huffed.

"Are you hiding in the bathroom?"

"Yes."

The other woman laughed again, then told her, "Look, just go get your clothes, get dressed, wake him, be as calm as possible, which I know is going to be next to impossible since you're probably three shades of green right now and your hands are all clammy. Just tell him you had a lovely time, give him a... Really. Good. Kiss. That'll distract him from thinking he'd done a terrible thing. And then leave." She nodded as Amy added, "And come straight here for dinner and more details."

"Fine," She breathed, ignoring the terrible giggle that erupted through the phone just before she ended the call and then looked back to the door, feeling her legs trembling underneath her.

Standing, she tugged on his shirt and took three steps before turning back and flushing the toilet, just in case he'd woken, and then she washed her hands out of habit, glancing up at her reflection in the bathroom mirror to smirk at herself. Lifting her hair, she could see another light welt just behind her left ear and she sighed at the shiver that travelled over her, just thinking about how his mouth had made its way over her, as though he couldn't get enough of her. Clara closed her eyes and grinned.

She'd done her fair share of exploring.

Her cheeks burned and she sighed, picking her mobile back up from the counter and going towards the kitchen to search out his dryer to pluck her clothes out, slipping into them carefully before going back to the couch to look at him. She sighed, something about the serenity in his posture giving her the urge to simply tuck herself back into the fold of his body and stay a few more hours. It'd been so long, she thought, and he'd been so kind.

"John?" She sat beside him and brushed a hand over his head, letting it rest just behind his ear to stroke at it with her thumb as her fingers combed lightly through his hair. "John?"

His eyes slowly opened, and then turned to look at her, a look of tranquil admiration settled there just before he noticed she'd dressed. "Is everything alright, Clara?" He questioned, sitting up and touching her elbow delicately as she bowed her head and smiled shyly.

Nodding, she told him, "Everything's fine." Shrugging and looking to the sun beginning to peek through the drizzle of rain now slowing, she explained, just as her friend had told her to, "I had dinner plans with friends and need to get going."

"Cancel your plans," he laughed, unexpectedly.

She sighed, looking him over. There was something oddly youthful about his face then; that excitement that she might even consider it – like a boy waiting for his mum to agree to let him have ice cream before dinner. She smiled, inching forward without thinking to kiss him, feeling his arms wrap tightly around her, pulling her closer to him. And for a moment she did consider it, spending a few more hours... spending the night, maybe, and then her heart rate rose and she slipped back with a sheepish smile.

"I can't," she told him quietly, "I promised Amy I'd go see her – she's upset."

His head dropped for a second before he lifted it slightly to state, remembering from before, "The one with the negative pregnancy test."

Sighing, Clara offered, "Next Saturday. Dinner."

"Graduated from lunch then?" He asked in amusement.

Clara laughed honestly and then timidly told him, "You're not really a lunch date." She shrugged, "Lunch is for friends and I'm not really sure what we are, but, we're not friends, are we."

"A bit more, possibly," he stated, and she couldn't help smile at the hope in his voice. "So dinner, next Saturday, lasagna?"

Standing, she bent to peck his lips again before agreeing, "Lasagna," and going to retrieve her purse, pushing her mobile inside and quietly exiting the flat, offering him one more smile and then she swiftly made her way to the lift before she could change her mind. Because, she thought as she rushed out to her car, she desperately wanted to change her mind and she couldn't understand why. Fifteen minutes later she was sunk deeply into the Pond's couch, a cup of water held tightly within her hands, still battling the dilemma, her friend setting the table, giving her glances every so often.

Amy hadn't pushed her for information, as she'd expected. Perhaps it was the look of dread she'd worn on her way in; perhaps it was the way she'd simply asked for water and then sat quietly to wait for it; perhaps it was the fact that she hadn't taken a single sip. Clara finally looked up into the fireplace, crackling softly a few feet from her, and she turned to see Amy eyeing her from a spot near the kitchen, waiting on the oven timer to go off while trying to give her friend the space she needed to think. Nodding the other woman over, Clara smiled when her long arms unfolded and she rushed to her side, dropping into the couch with a groan of frustration.

"Where's Rory?" Clara finally asked, looking around with a frown.

"I wait all this time and you..." Amy trailed, shaking her head before grunting, "Rory's disappeared, to get you something, he said, about five minutes after you called – should be back by now though, said it wouldn't take too long."

Nodding slowly, Clara raised the cup to her lips and took a drink and then grimaced, "Oh my God, Amy, this is Vodka."

"Yeah," Amy breathed, "Sounded like you could use it."

She set the glass down on the table in front of them and she shook her head, then turned and asked, "Is it strange that I wanted to stay?"

"Depends on the reason you wanted to stay," Amy responded frankly.

Shrugging, Clara admitted, "I've been trying to figure that out myself."

"What are the thoughts," Amy began, "I know you, you've got a whole list of reasons, spread out into bubbles of thought branching off bubbles of thought like some warped brainstorming chart – you remember those things we used to have to do? Stupid teachers."

Blinking, Clara watched her a moment before reminding, "We're stupid teachers, Amy."

Hand waving, Amy spat, "Shut it; thoughts."

She smiled at her friend's aggravation, and then took a breath, turning to look at her hands, twisting into each other anxiously, before telling her, "Suppose it breaks down into two reasons: Genuine affection, which is entirely possible even though we've only spent a few days together really, and obviously this is the preferable option because it means this could be the beginning of something. A real relationship, if we're willing to overcome the obstacles..."

Stopping her, Amy questioned, "What obstacles?"

"My insecurities, mostly," she told her, "But there are also his – he visibly flinches when people look at us too long in public; he's afraid they're judging him, or judging me, because of the age difference." She watched Amy nod appreciatively, surprisingly, to Clara, with no jokes readily rolling off her tongue. "So, if it's that, if I want to stay with him because I like him, and I do think I like him, then it's potentially a great thing."

"So what's wrong?" Amy demanded.

"What if it's just that? What if it's just my insecurity? What if I only want to stay because it's been so long, Amy?" Her head fell back against the couch. "I've been so busy being a mum and a teacher and a divorcee terrified of her own shadow, maybe I'd subconsciously convinced myself I'd never find anyone else and I'm latching onto the first man who bedded me. Maybe that's why I wanted him to?" She grimaced, shifting her head to see Amy's concern. "I don't want to think I'd do that, but Amy, I would do that."

"And there's nothing wrong with that," Amy told her, brushing a hand over her hair, "Honey, it's perfectly ok to just have casual sex sometimes and it has nothing to do with insecurities and everything to do with you being a woman – you remember you're a woman, right?"

Clara laughed at the ceiling, turning to look at Amy as she smiled.

"Hun, you're a woman and you have needs and this John seems more than happy to meet them."

"But is that all I want?" Clara questioned. "Am I using him to satisfy these needs and how do I break his heart later, if that's all it turns out to be."

On a sigh as the front door opened, Amy said quietly and simply, "As gently as possible."

A brown bag dropped into Clara's lap and she straightened to look down at it, glancing up quickly at Rory as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket to set back on a small table near the front door as she asked, "What's this?"

Rejoining them, he offered Clara a nod as he stated, "In case you defy the odds."

She glanced inside, slipping the box of emergency contraception into her lap and fiddling with the opening as Amy took the cup of Vodka to exchange for actual water, and Clara smiled at the man who sat down beside her, telling him softly, "Thank you, Rory."

He offered a sheepish smile and clapped his hands on his knees, rubbing then as he looked to the fire and then told her honestly, "You'll have to talk to your actual doctor about birth control, if you want to go that route, otherwise, figure out another route. You know you have to, don't you?"

She nodded, accepting the cup from Amy and downing the pill with a grimace and a frown she aimed at her thighs before closing her eyes and asked them both, "Is it all ridiculous? In two nights I'll be seeing the Doctor in that dream and we're going to go somewhere magical and then the Saturday after I'll be seeing John again and we'll be up to who knows what…" she trailed and shook her head and then looked to them before focusing on Rory, "I know Amy thinks it's all just fun and games – she'll tell me to do what's exciting, but what do you think, Rory?"

Shrugging and looking to the fire, he thought a moment and then turned and took a breath, not glancing at his wife before stating, "Have fun."

"What?" Both women exclaimed.

His hands came up and then dropped back down heavily on his leg as he repeated, "Have fun," and then looked to Clara and smiled, "You've been through a lot – more than anyone like you should have to endure and I think you're entitled to make some idiotic decisions every so often," he pointed at Amy to stop her words before glancing back at Clara, "And yes, I think this is all idiotic and will only end in heartache for you all, but you deserve that. You deserve to make that choice every once in a while. You deserve to have a little fun with it before it all goes to hell." On another shrug, he said, "Just take care of yourself because there are some things I can't stomach, and seeing you hurt or crying would be one of them."

Smiling, Clara took another sip of water as Amy sighed, "I can't believe he's agreeing with me on this."

Offering a sarcastic laugh, Rory stood and questioned, "Is dinner ready? I thought I might miss it."

Watching him move to wrap his arms around the woman standing beside the couch, Clara tried to relax as she sat more comfortably in the couch, finally feeling at ease. I'm allowed to be an idiot, she tried to explain to herself as she watched the fire. I'm allowed to satisfy myself, she tried to accept, thinking about how John would be tidying up his little place with a pep to his step he hadn't woken with that morning. I'm allowed to make terrible decisions, she thought with a small smirk as the timer buzzed in the kitchen.


	23. Chapter 23

They were in a fancy restaurant; some place Clara didn't recognize so she knew the Doctor was providing the memory. Everything red and black and shiny in a way that made her laugh as she looked down to Maddie at her side and saw her looking up from her perfect blue dress with white tights and blue sparkly shoes with a surprised smile spread on her round little face. Clara bent beside her to brush her hands over her hair and rub the sleeves of the white cardigan her daughter wore to keep her arms from getting cold, and she smirked as the girl twisted to look at the tiny purse hanging off her arm.

He hadn't left out a single detail of what would make the girl happy. Her hair was pinned back away from her face and her ears were adorned with tiny pearls, her shoes lit up with every step and had the smallest of heels, to make her feel more grown up. Everything, Clara knew, from the Doctor's imagination, possibly from things he'd seen at the store – or things he'd given his own daughter, she thought sadly – and she stood again, reaching to hold Maddie's hand as they took several timid steps together into the dining area, glancing around for the man waiting for them, standing next to a table that sat at the edge of a dance floor. They giggled at his purple suit and the matching bow tie that hung around his neck, and then Clara chanced to glance down at her own ensemble as they reached him.

"Please tell me," the Doctor began softly, "That red is your favorite color, otherwise, I've made a terrible miscalculation."

She laughed, looking over the way the silky material, waves of different hues of the color, like fire, hugged at her body and hung at the just perfect length above her knees – not too modest, but not too sexy – and she smiled as she looked up at him and told him, "I do favor it, yes."

"Mummy loves red a lot a lot," Maddie provided, then she asked, "How did you know I liked blue?"

He bent before her and gave her tiny nose a poke, grinning when she giggled, and he whispered, "Magic."

She nodded, accepting the answer as he straightened and pulled out a chair for the girl, lifting her easily to settle into the booster seat that waited as Clara watched. Too much like a father to be ignored, she considered, turning away for just a moment to try and calm her heart because Maddie's own father had never given the girl as much consideration as this ridiculous man in this made up world.

When she finally turned back, he was whispering something to the girl, something that made her smile enough to wrinkle her nose. He was also examining Maddie's silver wear, resizing it to the girl's needs, and blunting the edges, she noticed, and when he stood and shifted his attention to her, Clara told him shyly, "Thank you," as she gestured to Maddie, one hand running over the back of the girl's hair as Maddie took a sip of her water.

The Doctor merely shrugged, moving past her to pull back her seat, waiting for Clara to sit to move around to his own chair across from hers, looking to Maddie between them at Clara's right and the Doctor's left to tell her, "Whatever your heart desires is yours, my lady."

Her eyes watered slightly as her daughter smirked and glanced quickly at her, then lifted a hand to shield her mouth as she informed him, "I don't think mummy would like me eating chocolate ice cream and cupcakes for dinner."

He shook his head and frowned, brow dropping comically before he agreed, "No, might be best to choose something that's actually dinner," before lifting his head up to grin in Clara's direction to add, "Even though this isn't real food and there aren't any actual negative ramifications for eating rubbish for dinner."

Clara looked to the giggling child between them and she shook her head, "How about your favorite dinner; what is your favorite dinner, Maddie?" She smiled warmly as her daughter wiggled slightly, and she already knew before her hands came together and she looked to the Doctor.

"Macaroni and cheese and ham," she hissed excitedly, fingers now pointing up as she continued her odd little dance in her seat.

The man beside her released an agreeable laugh just before he leaned into her and told her quietly, tapping her wrist with his knuckles, "Close your eyes and imagine it right in front of you, just the way you want it."

It only took a second for the dish to appear and Maddie shrieked and then clapped as Clara sighed, watching her pluck up a fork to push into the oozing plate of noodles, dotted pink with tiny squares of ham, meals Clara made when they were short on money and time. Then Maddie stopped and she looked from one adult to the other and asked, "What are you going to eat?"

"I am going to have a cheese steak sandwich like I've tried in Philadelphia, or perhaps something silly," he told her before nodding his head towards Clara to whisper, "And we're going to have to teach your mum this trick, otherwise she'll get really hungry."

"No she won't," Maddie retorted swiftly, brow dropping defensively as she explained, "I'll make her any food she wants." She twisted in her seat, asking her with a quick set of nods, "What do you want to eat mummy? I can make you food here."

Her eyes looked so worried, and yet so determined, enough to make Clara shift forward to press a kiss into her forehead before she whispered, "It's alright, sweet pea, I can try this magic trick of yours." She leaned back, offering her an eager grin and a firm nod before landing a devious stare on the Doctor's bright eyes. "So how does it work, Doctor, it can't be as simple as it seems or else everyone would be able to do it."

He pointed, "You're right, and you needn't be disappointed if you can't." Looking to Maddie, he assured, "I'm sorry about joking earlier – I would never let your mother go hungry."

Tension easing out of her tiny frame, the girl sighed and then told Clara, "You have to find a memory, or make one," she closed her eyes and Clara looked to the Doctor, curiously fascinated by the girl in a way she tried not to let worry her, and suddenly a can of fizzy drink appeared and Maddie smiled as she reached for it, but Clara stopped her and she whined, "Mummy, it's not real!"

Popping the top for her, she handed it over with a surprised shake of her head as she stated, "I was going to let you have it," then she leaned into her and they shared a set of quiet giggles, "I suppose it's alright to have a few treats here."

Maddie took a long drink and then set it down and frowned. "It tastes like juice."

"She doesn't have a memory for this, does she," the Doctor laughed.

The girl frowned as Clara shrugged, "I don't want my child bouncing off walls, thanks."

Tapping her hand lightly, the Doctor stated, "Try again," and Maddie hesitated, but finally lifted the drink to her lips, taking another long sip before stopping to cough, eyes wide, and then she let out a loud belch before her hands clapped over her mouth and she turned her scared stare to her mother.

Leaning back in her chair, Clara looked to the girl and then she looked to the way the Doctor was chuckling and she knew he'd given her another one of his memories – the taste of a drink she'd only had a handful of times in her short life, not enough to retain the feel of those shocking bubbles racing down the throat, or the way they came back up rudely and unexpectedly. Clara's mouth fell open slightly as she looked back to her daughter, turning red with embarrassment, and she laughed.

"That was disgusting," she stated, hand coming up to press her finger into the space underneath her nose as she laughed again, this time watching the understanding that she wasn't in any sort of trouble wash over Maddie.

Clara looked to the space in front of her as she listened to her daughter's laugh and she tried to concentrate. She closed her eyes and she tried to picture a meal; tried to recall the flavors of lobster and butter sauce and the smell of steamed vegetables and when Maddie gasped, she opened her eyes to look down at a plate of something quite different. A shepherd's pie, one with a set of hearts carved into the top that made her blush.

"You did it, mummy!" Maddie breathed.

Clara began to shake her head, because she knew she hadn't. Clara knew the man across from her had given her the meal and she would have told the girl, but the Doctor gave a shout of joy as his own dinner appeared – a plate of fish fingers and a bowl of custard. Clara made a face at it, as Maddie nodded her approval just before the man insisted, "Ladies, let's eat!"

She was halfway through it, some odd understanding that the flavor of the meat and the perfectly fluffy mashed potatoes, and the slightly sweet carrots and peas, were all from his mouth making her smirk occasionally, when the music started up and he snapped his fingers, gesturing emphatically as he chewed. She glanced up, as did her daughter, both staring at his manic motions and the awkward smile he was trying to give them as the food remained stored in his cheeks.

He looked, Clara thought with a slight tilt of her head, like a psychotic hamster.

And then he swallowed and wheezed, "We should dance!"

It was an upbeat tune and Clara shook her head, one hand coming up to wave. She was just about to tell him that she did not dance, when he turned his attention to Maddie, who was nodding, pointing to the dance floor. Clara let her hand land delicately against the table as she watched him stand and pluck her child up from her seat, jumping into the couples already swinging and swaying about. She took a breath and held it, watching Maddie settle comfortably at his waist, one hand around his shoulders, the other firmly in the hand that wasn't holding her securely to him. He did a quick turn and her daughter's head fell back with a squeal and she laughed, watching them make their way around the dance floor in random circles.

Clara's bottom lip trembled as she watched him set her down, her hand still in his, as he began to rock his hips, prompting her to do the same. The Doctor threw his arms up and Maddie followed suit, both waving them about as they shook their heads, and then pointed at one another and laughed, and then the Doctor caught her eye. He gave her a sympathetic smile and a small nod, his right forefinger coming up to touch at a space just underneath his eye and she understood – she was crying, but he knew they were happy tears; he also knew Maddie might be confused by them.

She wiped at her face and turned away, laughing as she looked over the table. Her daughter had never danced with her father – shouldn't daughters dance with their fathers? Clara could easily remember a dozen times her own father had hoisted her out of a seat for a playful spin around the living room, or on a dance floor at a party. She could remember how silly she thought he was, but also how grateful she was for that silliness. Her father, she knew, would do anything to make her smile, and Maddie's father had almost killed her.

The hands that found her arm were cold, and she heard the little girl whimper, "Mummy, what's wrong?"

Turning to look at the girl who waited, Clara reached down to pull her up into her lap, holding her tightly and then pulling her back to cup her face within her own hands, telling her calmly, "I'm sorry, sweetie, I'm just so happy to see you so happy." She smiled when Maddie nodded, "I love you so very much, baby girl."

"I love you, mummy," Maddie whispered, she inched forward and told her quietly, "I think you should dance with the Doctor – he makes things happy, I think." She breathed, "I think he's magic."

Nodding, Clara replied on a breath, "I think so too."

Standing, she set the girl down in her chair and then looked to the extended hand the Doctor held out to her, his other bent behind his back, his body bowing slightly as she approached nervously. The music, she noticed, had shifted, possibly on his command, to something softer, something, she thought with a smile, like jazz. Taking his hand, she let him lead her onto the hardwood floor and she watched the way that grin sat smugly on his face, knowing she didn't ordinarily make a habit of dancing, and he stepped closer to her, other hand curling around her hip, fingertips pressing gently into her.

"Thank you," she told him plainly.

Head bowing slightly, he laughed, "Clara, you don't have to thank me for every little thing."

She looked to Maddie, eating her food calmly at the table, and she replied, "Yes, yes I do." She shifted into him on a turn and watched him as the lights played over his face. His stupid face, she thought, that was somehow handsome and honest and focused solely on her. "Are you like this in the real world?"

Shrugging, he said, "I hope I am."

"I think I'd like to meet you," she began, but she could see him shaking his head. "Why not?"

Wincing at the lights a moment, he thought about it, then looked to her, "Because I think you've met someone else already and I'd hate to step on his toes."

Clara laughed, "You know about that."

"John tells me everything," he teased before straightening and stammering, "Well, obviously not everything. I mean, there are things that ought to remain private, but he tells me loads of things, things he thinks I should know, things that..." he looked to her and stated, "We're really good friends."

Lips pressing together in a tight smile, Clara watched him. She could feel his body shifting nervously against hers and she inched up to tell him, "I think it's good your friends." Nodding and dropping back down, she continued, "He's a good man, deserves friends who are looking out for him."

"You think so," the Doctor stated curiously before affirming with a nod of his head, "I mean, yes, he's a great man, but he has very few friends. He's had a hard time trusting people – so many these days are eager to walk away from relationships, it's almost as if they're always one foot out the door, ready to go at the first sign of dissonance."

"That's a shame," Clara breathed, focus drifting as she thought of him, all alone in his flat. And then she glanced back up and asked timidly, "Would you be jealous if I said I was dating him?"

Laughing, the Doctor questioned, "Why would I be jealous?"

On a shrug, she looked around, "Because it would seem we're dating, in a sense, as well." She smiled and reminded, "Toes and all. I'm not the sort to have one foot out the door – I either step inside or I don't and I think he's the sort of man you cross the threshold for."

Her blush was instant, thinking on the connotation of her wording, but the Doctor merely considered what she'd said without innuendo, she presumed based on his lack of teasing. She watched him glance towards her daughter, checking on her as they danced and he thought on his response before taking a long breath and explaining, "The way I see it, we're living out a fantasy within dreams, because as much as I am a real person with very real feelings and a very real face lying in a very real chair in a very real office, I'm still very much a concoction of someone's imagination – mostly my own, being honest with you – and I'm perfectly aware that one day you won't need that anymore and I'll vanish, floating away like smoke."

"But you'll still be that very real man, sitting in that very real chair," Clara reminded. "It must weigh on you and your emotions, to drift into a life and connect to it so heavily and then have to sort of distance yourself from that in the end."

He smiled, the sad smile that felt like a punch to her chest. "Yes," he told her simply. "But none of this is about me."

"It is a bit about you," she retorted with a frown. "My daughter isn't falling in love with mirage, Mr. Smith," she shot, emphasizing his name, "She's falling in love with a man who is very much concerned for her well-being; a man who is trying to make her happy..."

"A man she thinks is magic," he interrupted. "A man who fell from the skies with a few magic tricks."

Clara shrugged and then said softly, "And that magic man might be falling a little bit in love with her."

"And possibly her mother," he affirmed, looking down at her with a sigh. "And that's why there has to be that distance in the end; that's why there's the disconnect. We both know this ends with broken hearts, but doesn't everything?" He shrugged, "You live well for as long as you can because it ends, Clara."

Nodding slowly, she inched forward, hugging him as she laid her ear to his chest, listening to his heart thumping an easy rhythm, and she felt his arms wrap around her snuggly. He kissed the top of her head and she closed her eyes, letting him continue to lead them in their swaying as she watched her daughter take a long sip of drink before she turned to them to giggle, small hand coming up to cover her face just before she shook her head and looked back to her food, continuing to eat.

"You're too concerned with the details," the Doctor told her.

"I have to be," she replied. "That little girl's heart has been broken too often for my liking."

Hands rubbing at her back, he reminded, "And she's strong, like her mother."

"I'm tired of having to be strong, and she's only five – she shouldn't _have_ to be."

The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them and she backed away from him to shake her head, but he lifted his hands to her shoulders, gripping them to get her attention. He smiled, an assuring smile that made her stomach tingle, and he whispered, "Clara, let me be strong for you here. For a little while," he laughed, "Let me take care of you."

The world around them dissolved, the dance floor melting into the carpet back home; the dress giving way to a comfortable set of faded pajamas just as his suit shifted into an odd set of his own, trousers decorated in tiny happy faces that made Clara smile. She turned to see Maddie at her dining room table, looking around with a sort of wonder, and the music was no longer playing. Late night news rolled softly from the television and Clara laughed, shaking her head against it.

"You do that so easily," she groaned, looking to Maddie as she dropped down from her seat, her little blue dress slowly unfurling into a similarly colored nightie, her purse turning into Mrs. Moffat in her arms. Turning, she could see him looking to the girl meandering about the room, giving it a once over for approval, and Clara sadly stated, "But I don't know if it's a good idea."

Maddie picked up a remote and climbed onto the couch, flipping channels until she found cartoons as the Doctor asked Clara quietly, "What's not a good idea?"

"Making us a family," she nodded, "Doctor, is that the fantasy you want to create?"

He stared into her as she found his eyes again, and then he told her gently, "This wasn't me."

Looking to the girl on the couch, Clara's mouth fell open slightly as she let her gaze wander around the room and slowly she understood – somehow Maddie had taken them home, and she'd brought the Doctor with them. Because he made them happy, she knew. Her little girl was trying to use the abilities she seemed to be able to harness in this dream world to give them a bit of the normalcy she'd never known in her waking life, and the idea turned her face into the Doctor's chest, hiding the sob before the girl could hear.

"It's alright, Clara," he whispered, hugging her in place as she took a long breath.

Lifting her head, she smiled up at him and explained, "My best friends, Amy and Rory, their daughter was my daughter's best friend and sometimes we would have sleepovers. Especially if Rory had a night shift at the hospital on a Friday or Saturday night. The girls would get to re-arrange Melody's room around so we could get a blanket and make them a tent and they'd have their sleeping bags and their dolls and games." She smiled, "Amy and I would take her bed and we'd talk until stupidly late hours and Rory would resign himself to the couch when he got home, but he would always be up before us all to make breakfast." On a nod, she told him, "That's the sort of man Rory is. Check on all of us through the night and then make us a perfect breakfast in the morning, and he would always groan about being the only man in the house," Clara laughed and shifted back, "But secretly, I think he enjoyed it."

Nodding to the little girl slouching into the couch lazily, the Doctor assured, "Whatever you think she's lacking, Clara, she's not." She looked up at him as he continued, "Her family may not have been the stuff of Norman Rockwell paintings, but she was – and still is – surrounded by people who love and care for her, and that is a family. She had a father figure in Rory and she has you, and Amy is her doting aunt, and her best friend? What best friend isn't a sister?" He laughed. "This isn't her trying to create something she's missing, Clara, this is her merely trying to show that all of the wonders in the universe don't compare to a home." Shrugging, he stated, "Doesn't matter if I'm here or not – what matters is that _you_ are."

Taking a deep breath, she reached to give his hands a squeeze and then moved to round the couch, falling into it at Maddie's right to see her smile up at her before the girl's eyes drifted back over the couch to where the Doctor stood, sheepishly watching them. They both waved him over and then laughed when he swiftly covered the distances and swung himself over into the space at Maddie's left. The girl remained quiet, cuddled between them, and then she sank lower, leaning into Clara to close her eyes.

"All that dancing must have done her in," the Doctor chuckled.

"Yeah," Clara agreed, but it worried her that she'd grown so tired so quickly. Brushing a hand over the girl's hair, she shifted into her and lifted her up to lay her against her, feeling the warm breaths against her shoulder as she looked to the cartoons. And then she yawned, exhausted herself, before glancing up as the Doctor moved closer.

He leaned into the couch and laid his left hand against Maddie's back while raising his right to brush over Clara's hair and then he pressed a kiss into her temple, reveling in the small satisfied sigh she offered him in return as he whispered, "Go to sleep, Clara."

Her eyes drifted shut and after a moment he felt the small buzz of the disconnection as she lulled herself into a natural sleep – as did Maddie – and he found himself staring up at the ceiling, sitting in his chair at the DeepDream Institute. John pushed himself up and he glanced at the screen, the one that awaited his notes, and he plucked the nodules off, tossing them aside to stand and walk away from the machine, towards the desk on which sat the photo of his wife and daughter. For a moment he smiled, thinking about all the nights spent curled up on the couch, or in bed together late at night, something that mattered little in the end quietly playing on the television. His daughter would sandwich herself between them and she would hug him fiercely, something his wife joked about often.

"Definitely a daddy's girl," she would tell him, looking down at the sleeping girl between them.

John would merely smile and shrug.

Now he gripped the photo frame tightly within his hands, straightening and staring down at their smiling faces as he took long breaths. The child, he told himself, was simply finding comfort in her mother and this unassuming man who's snuck his way into their lives, if only virtually, and he set the photo down gently, careful to prop the leg up behind it so it wouldn't simply fall over. Maddie had been holding his hand when she vanished and he could still feel that tiny set of fingers gripping him tightly, even as she'd drifted away.


	24. Chapter 24

Clara had called John on Friday, confirming Saturday night, and she made sure it was a casual affair before slipping into a pair of jeans and a cream colored jumper to combat the chillier evening air. He seemed troubled on the phone and she couldn't shake that twinge in his voice, as though it was painful to speak to her and she tried to convince herself it wasn't her at all. Perhaps a bad day? Perhaps he'd been tired when she called, it had been after dinner, he was probably heading into work. She forgot his hours were the opposite of hers; maybe she'd simply called at a bad time.

It's not me, she told herself, repeating for good measure, it's not me.

She knocked and waited, gripping a bottle of wine so tightly her hands were burning and when the door opened, he swung it wide, giving her a tame smile as he shifted aside so she could enter. Clara walked past him and she grinned at the small dining room table that sat adorned with a pair of lit candles, glasses for the wine he took from her, and silverware all atop a burgundy tablecloth she knew hadn't been there on her last visit. Glancing at him as she passed, she could see it then, the tension in his shoulders. Bad day at work, she tried to tell herself to calm her nerves as her hands gripped together in front of her stomach, following him towards the kitchen.

"Should be just about done," he allowed, glancing up at her.

For a moment he looked her over and she blushed easily, fingers coming up to scratch at the back of her head as she nodded and replied, "You could smell it in the hall, you're gonna have some jealous neighbors."

John chuckled then, head tilting as he told her, "Seeing you walking to my door, I absolutely will."

She couldn't help but laugh, watching him shift his attention back to his oven, and then she told him quietly, "I'll go put on some music." He merely nodded.

Clara went out to find something to put on, sifting through the options on the screen and choosing something at random, pressing lightly into the screen and then turning the volume to a decent level. She was perusing his books again, trying to memorize a few titles to look up herself, when he cleared his throat and set their plates on the table, and Clara went to sit as he poured the wine, giving her another tight smile.

One she tried to ignore, settling a napkin in her lap as she told him, "I read Maddie the story the other night," she gestured at her bag on the couch, "I brought the book back..."

His hand came up and he shook his head, softening visible before her, "Keep it for a while, there are a good many stories in there your daughter might appreciate."

Nodding slowly, she added, "I made the omelette."

Eyes lifting to find hers, Clara tried to read them as he waited. She wasn't sure what he was thinking or feeling and it unnerved her because generally she was good at it, but he simply stared. Taking a long breath, she picked up her fork and gripped it, smiling and then chuckling to herself.

"I burned it a bit," she admitted, "But otherwise it was ok." Looking back at him she shrugged, "Nowhere near as good as yours, even with the recipe – I suppose the cook has a lot to do with how it turns out and I am no cook."

John was nodding quietly, head bowing as he offered, "That is certainly true, though I doubt it was as bad as you think. Memories have a way of playing tricks." He gestured at his square of lasagna, "This will never be as good as the memory of the ones I've had in Italy."

"You've actually been to Italy?" She questioned, cutting into hers with her fork to take a bite. Ugh, she thought, stifling a groan, it was delicious and he was a liar.

Smiling at her reaction, John told her, "I've been with this company for quite some time and have accumulated a bit of vacation over the years – seemed a shame to waste it. Once a year I plan a trip, try to find some place new I haven't been to and I've collected quite a few trinkets." He looked to her, "Have you never travelled?"

"Sort of got pushed out of my mind when I had my daughter and my husband turned out to be a lunatic," she smiled politely. "Teacher's salary isn't exactly something to brag about and my finances the way they are – almost every penny is allocated to something." She took a sip. "Though I was hoping to get Maddie to Disney by her fifth birth..." her words ended as she stared down at her plate.

John straightened, "What's wrong, Clara?"

"She's five," she stated simply, eyes watering. "I hadn't thought about that trip in so long I forgot I missed it, I'd been planning for it, saving for it. The passports and the airfare to the US and this funny hotel I'd seen online with character breakfasts every day. I wanted it to be magical for her."

He reached across to hold her hand, telling her quickly, "Clara, it's alright, you'll take her another time."

Clara tried to accept his words, but she shook her head and explained, "She could never wake up, you know that? They keep telling me to prepare myself for that – for the fact that..." she paused to smile. "There's a really good chance she'll never wake up. The number is actually ninety five percent, that's what I was told, that's what they've repeatedly told me. Ninety five percent." She paused to watch the understanding creep in as she stated, "There's a ninety five percent chance I'll never take my daughter to Disney, or to Italy, or to Paris, or to just the park around the corner from our house where Amy let her vandalize her favorite swing with her name just underneath."

The hand around hers squeezed and she watched his eyes widen as he reminded, "And there's a five percent chance you will, Clara." He sighed, head tilting, "There's a five percent chance her mind will recuperate and there's a five percent chance that I think is exponentially multiplied when the strength of her mother's genetics are considered, and there's a five percent chance that her will... her will to be reunited with you in the waking world will win out." She laughed lightly and he repeated, "Clara, there's a five percent chance and I want you to hold onto that five percent for as long as it takes for her to wake up."

He gave her hand one last squeeze and then released her and it dawned on her, as he diverted his attention to his food, that he'd had a zero percent chance with his daughter. She'd simply died. Clara thought about Amy; she hadn't been in the room when they'd told her – she hadn't seen the devastation those words of finality had inflicted upon her and her husband. She took several small bites and then sat quietly, listening to the music she'd selected. Another slow set of songs that set a somber mood.

"I'm sorry," she told him, and then she looked up at him, "Sometimes I forget the odds because of the dreams we share, it's almost as if she's not in that coma – she's just away at some boarding school I could never afford," she laughed. "And then sometimes it's acute, and I forget some people weren't given the option of having options and I'm sorry you weren't allowed that."

He nodded slowly and then told her honestly, "My daughter suffered and my wife suffered, and then their suffering ended. I'm saddened a little bit every day by that loss, but I try to remember that life invariably carries on and I have to find a way to live with that. Part of that is knowing others do have options and those options should be celebrated." He nodded, "Life, Clara, should be celebrated."

With a grin and a nod of agreement, she picked up her glass and stated, "A toast to celebrating life, then."

He laughed, a hearty one that lifted her lips, and he grabbed his glass to clink against hers, repeating softly, "To celebrating life."

Clara took a drink as he did and then set her glass down, eating quietly and listening to the music, watching him across from her as he poked at his food and seemed to study it. As though wondering whether he'd made it right. She imagined he cooked items from those books on his shelves a hundred times, trying to perfect their recipes; she imagined he did the same, in a sense, with the people around him. Needing to be just right for them, lest they think him inferior. Was he like that with those he helped in dreams?

After clearing the majority of their plates and he'd failed to raise his head back up to look at her, she sighed, head tilting as she asked, "Are you alright?"

He gave her a fake smile and shrugged, "Of course, why wouldn't I be alright?"

Setting her fork down, she wiped at her mouth with her napkin, folding it and placing it just beside the plate, giving him a shrug of her own before telling him, "There are children in my class who are always boisterous, no matter what – the ones I have a hard time keeping still for lessons. When they're troubled, they act out. They're angry and defiant and destructive." She nodded as he waited. "And then there are the quiet ones. The ones who pay attention and follow instructions and when they're troubled, it's a bit harder to tell, because they don't manifest it the same. They become rigid, they avert their eyes, they fidget where no one can see because they internalize their emotions so it's more difficult to help them."

"And you're saying I'm one of the quiet ones," he stated.

Nodding, she stood and she could see him shift nervously in his seat as she approached him, rounding him and then gently placing her hands to his shoulders, beginning to knead at them gently, a small huff her only acknowledgement of their stiffness. Clara shifted closer, hands slipping over his chest slightly and crossing as she bent, leaning her cheek against his to feel the warmth of his skin and she waited, because she knew he was clever enough to know she'd detected something. She knew he was clever enough to know she wouldn't back down from it until he explained it, or dismissed her outright – which would only amplify her concerns.

And Clara knew he knew she was concerned.

John reached up and he patted her right arm lightly, taking a breath before admitting, "A man of my age and limited experience with social interaction... can become a bit confused when a beautiful woman attempts to woo him. He convinces himself that she's merely seen him as a safe option until a more suitable one becomes available."

Nodding slowly, she admitted, "I've thought about it, honestly; why you, why now," she laughed, "Why am I doing this? Because it's not something I'm prone to doing – and you should know that, I'm not the sort who looks for a casual shag, as my friend Amy would argue I should."

Giving her arm a tug so she came around him to stand at his side, before he turned to look at her, giving her a shake of his head before asking lightly, "So why are you doing this, Clara?" He stared up at her curiously and concluded firmly, "Why me? Why now?"

The only answer, she understood, was the truth, and so she told him plainly, "Before you, I'd secluded myself in my own world, I suppose. The only things that mattered to me were my daughter and my job and I figured so long as I had those covered, I would thrive on my own. Maybe because of my husband, I'd decided I didn't need that part of a life to be happy, and honestly not everyone does." She shrugged, "Then Mr. Smith popped into my dreams and I realized I _wanted_ that to be a part of my life."

"What part is that?" He questioned softly.

"The one where there was someone looking out for me; the one where there was a partner standing beside me that I could trust without question and maybe love unconditionally? My husband did a pretty good job of destroying the notion that could even be possible, except I saw it in Rory, I knew it existed – I just didn't think I could ever achieve it," she bowed her head slightly and turned away shyly, "Maybe I didn't think I'd ever be worth it. And then Mr. Smith happened, except some part of me keeps telling myself he's just a fantasy and he'll disappear one day." She looked back just as he was about to speak, stopping him with a gentle, "And then I met you."

"I don't know if I can be that man for you," he told her honestly, and she could see the way he doubted himself in his eyes. John couldn't fathom himself being that for someone in the same way she couldn't fathom she'd be worthy of it and the notion made her heart hurt for him.

Clara smiled, accepting his words before offering, "I didn't say you had to be, I just started to think that maybe it'd be worth a try – maybe we're both worth what we don't believe we deserve and in just giving it a shot with each other, we'd understand we're both wrong. Whether or not you and I work out in the end, don't you think we're both owed at least shot at it?"

"And here I thought you were only looking for a funny story to tell friends," he whispered, and Clara knew that behind the teasing tone sat the uncertainty.

She stepped into him and bent to kiss him, tasting the lasagna with just a twinge of the wine. Clara took a long breath of him as his arms wrapped around her instinctively; pulling her closer and she frowned at his trembling limbs. Had he truly been so worried her interest had been superficial? He must have been, she knew, and in that moment she understood properly how terribly this could end. He'd been prepared for her departure – a few dates, a little fun, and she'd be gone. He'd been so sure of it, he hadn't allowed himself to accept any other option, and yet she was prepared to offer him assurances there were.

Or at least there could be.

Inching back, she sighed, watching his bright eyes staring up at her hopefully, "I don't want to keep missing opportunities by being scared and unsure of myself or others."

John stood and his hands shifted to her waist at either side, gripping her securely as he shook his head and then smiled, "No, I don't think we should." And he laughed. Clara smiled because it was a good laugh. It was a promising laugh and it ended only when she kissed him again.

Tugging him down, she met him earnestly, trying to convey her confidence that no matter what he'd been thinking, or would be thinking after she departed, she was determined to see it through between them. Fingers trailing over his dark jumper, she sighed as she found the edge, giving it a tug upward and he shifted back to pull it away, tossing it to the ground as she rid herself of her own.

Clara's hands landed on the waistband of his trousers and he stopped her, head tilting before asking, "To be sure, this isn't simply about a funny story to tell friends?"

Undoing the button, she leisurely slid the zipper down over him while slowly stating, "I assure you, nothing in your pants is a funny story."

"So, we'll be having a shag then," he squeaked, looking happily surprised.

Nodding, her eyes widened as she told him, "Hopefully we'll arrive at the bedroom this time."

John stopped her hands, and he gave her a smile as she looked to him in confusion, allowing, "Perhaps we should make our way there first," he grimaced and continued with a glance towards his living room, "The couch really isn't good for my back and this table isn't as sturdy as it seems."

On a giggle that brightened his smile, Clara took his hand and tugged him towards the hallway...

John took a breath as he looked to Jack, words trailing a moment in his story. "I'm still a little unsure, as I believe she is as well," John stated, hands clapping together as he looked to the other man's enraptured face, "Neither of us is the sort to fall into whirlwind-type romances and here we are, unabashedly throwing caution to the wind." He shrugged.

His friend blinked, straightening in his spot atop the park bench, and he raised his hands, shaking his head to shout, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! No, you take this right back to that hallway and into that bedroom and you tell me exactly what went on with this woman." Staring incredulously, he spat, "You don't leave out those details, John. It's just not... _right_. Like cutting off a decently plotted porn right before the actual porn."

Smiling shyly, John shook his head, "I respect her enough to not share the details." Looking to his friend, he nodded and shrugged, "But she is quite talented."

"You," Jack pointed, "Are a cock block. That's what you are, my friend. A huge smirk-y grey haired, insect shaped, cock block. And I, as your best friend, am offended, sir."

Laughing heartily into the night, John shook his head and began putting the remnants of his lunch into his bag before glancing towards the building, "And now I have another date with Clara, albeit in an entirely different capacity."

He sighed as John asked the inevitable, "Doesn't it make you jealous?"

"I suppose it does," he responded honestly. "But I have to respect that choice as well – the way of the youth; you're not exclusive to someone in a relationship until you're married, and even then there's the unfortunate wiggle room."

"Don't lecture me on the youth, you know how old I am," Jack grunted.

Laughing again, John nodded, "Fair enough."

"Are you going to step back, as the Doctor?" His friend asked, air quotes around his dream persona's name making John smile.

Pulling his bag onto his shoulders, he shrugged as he pushed his hands into his pockets and told the other man firmly, "I'm not sure why I should." He nodded, looking to the building again, "She seems to want to keep the two experiences separate, so I'll play along that way because unless I admit I'm both, I shouldn't know either way."

Jack stood and stared seriously for a moment, a moment that took the chuckle out of John's breaths as he anticipated what he might say when he finally stated firmly, "When are you going to tell her?"

Releasing a long sigh, John turned towards the DeepDream Institute and he began to walk, waiting for his friend to fall in step with him at his side to admit, "I'm not sure I can; she'll think me some sort of con man." And to the other man's huff of a laugh, John pointed and explained, "To which I could say the same of her. Do you understand the dilemma?"

"Not..." Jack trailed before finishing with a tilt of his head, "Really."

Hands opening in front of him, John explained, "I tell her I'm both men and she gets upset, but then I tell her she's toying with the emotions of both men and somehow she's still be upset, but now because she's been caught in this ruse, one I'm not entirely sure she understands she's playing."

"Because one is in a dream world and one is in the real world," Jack surmised.

Pointing, John agreed, "And most people still see the things that happen in these dreams as just that – dreams – and they're only capable of grasping the reality when they're upset with their handlers."

Eyes rolling, John added, "And then you get yanked into some corporate office setting at two in the morning with some haughty guy who hasn't had to do a decent night's work in a couple of centuries explaining harassment laws."

Smiling at the other man, John said softly, "I'll tell her when the time is right."


	25. Chapter 25

There was a crowd filling in around them noisily and Clara's grip on Maddie's hand tightened as the warmth of the sun began to thaw the numbness of sleep from their limbs and slowly the world appeared. A world of the Doctor's creation, she knew, and she smiled for a moment before confusion settled in and she looked around at the children strolling along happily with parents, tinker music beginning to accompany the pungent scent of popcorn and cotton candy. And somewhere in the distance, through the light tweets of small birds and the static of a thousand conversations at once, she heard the faint roar of a coaster and the screams of its riders.

"Mummy," Maddie called out, inching closer to her, "Where are we?"

Out from between a man peddling what seemed like a few hundred balloons and a cheerful family getting their photo taken in front of a castle, the Doctor was making his way towards them with something dark held between his hands and Clara could see the grin on his face as he looked between her and her daughter. She sighed at the purple suspenders he wore and then she frowned at the empty space at his collar, looking to him for some explanation to everything as he extended his arms towards Maddie, handing her an odd object the girl stared at curiously.

Turning it over in her hands, she gasped, fingers trailing over her name embroidered in bold letters into the dark fabric in blue and then she popped it open and laughed, exclaiming, "It's a funny hat!"

It was a hat with ears and Clara recognized it immediately, head snapping up to ask, "How did you know?" as she looked around understanding they weren't just in any amusement park – they were in a Disney amusement park, standing in the middle of Main Street on a perfectly sunny morning.

His hands wrapped around one another as he bent forward and whispered, "Mutual friend of ours said this might be a good idea," then he inched back nervously, adding with a squeak, "Unless, of course, this is a terrible idea," his hands opened before him, gesturing at Maddie as he continued, "I've been, and I thought I'd share those memories with her because she ought to have them, but we can..."

She stopped him with a smile and a shake of her head, looking down to watch her daughter affix the hat onto her head with a wide grin and then a mighty giggle, asking again, "Is this Disney World, mummy?"

The Doctor answered brightly, "Yes, Maddie, it is – we're in Florida!"

"We've crossed an ocean without a plane," Maddie laughed. Then she sighed, her grip on Clara's hand loosening to a comfortable hold as she stated, "I love dreaming."

Before Clara could respond, the Doctor clapped his hand together and gestured, "Venturing to our right, we enter the fabulous world of the future where we can shoot aliens and ride spaceships high in the sky; turning to our left takes us into the land of adventure where we can cruise with snakes and alligators and explore a world of pirates from the safety of a boat, and any way we go, we'll end up surrounded by whims of fantasy and back around again." Pointing, he called, "Madeline Oswald, the decision is yours!"

Glancing down, Clara watched Maddie bring her free hand up, fingers pinching over her chin as her mouth pushed together in a wrinkle of consideration and then she snapped her fingers and pointed, shouting, "Snakes and alligators and pirates!"

He reached down, lifting her as she squealed to plant her atop his shoulders and then he held out a hand, fingers wiggling slightly in the same way Clara generally did for Maddie, and she laughed, taking the Doctor's hand as he lead them away from the view of a castle and the neatly trimmed lawns and rose bushes towards a bridge over which they found exactly what he'd said they would.

She wished she had a camera that could document each and every moment of this dream, watching her daughter run around a set of totem poles with funny faces that spit water down on her as she squealed, or screaming at fake hippos in a jungle, or squish into her side as their boat rolled over a drop in the dark before they laughed at the silliness of make-believe pirates. Clara enjoyed her daughter's laughter as they rumbled through a dessert mountain on a coaster and her worried eyes, widening as they reached the top of a hill that fell into a briar patch, and the way she giggled through a set of animatronic bears singing folk tunes neither of them recognized.

And then she nearly cried, if it were possible in the same way in dreams, as her child flew on an elephant, and took a trip with a bear, and was whisked away over the fake skies of London by a boy who'd never grow old. Maddie met a fairy godmother dressed in pale blues just beside a fountain who helped her make a wish, and she looked upon a beanstalk devouring the side of a tavern, and she sat on a colorful horse as they made their way around a carousel. Her daughter danced towards a sword that refused to budge from its stone, and she twirled her way through a tree house she lamented wasn't her own.

By the time they'd reached that wonderful world of the future, as the Doctor had promised, Maddie was lying against his left shoulder, sleepy eyes still taking in as much as they could as they walked in the darkening world. They skipped the blasters and the ships that made Clara dizzy merely watching them going round and round above them, and they made their way back to the pristine lawns where the trees were beginning to sparkle slightly and Maddie sat next to Clara patiently beside a white fence behind which a family of ducks were waddling about, squabbling with the ground for food.

"What are those?" The girl asked, pointing towards the trees. "They twinkle."

"I think," Clara whispered in her ear, "They're fireflies."

Maddie turned to her, tired eyes enlarging as she questioned, "What are fireflies?"

Smiling, she explained, "They're little bugs with lights in their body, so as they fly around, they light up."

"Why?" Maddie questioned, brow dropping heavily.

Shrugging, Clara answered, "Because it's dark when they wake up, I suppose."

Giggling, the girl told her, "I wish I had light up body parts. Like those trainers. I'll just stomp my feet and they'll be like sun shoes."

Glancing up at the Doctor, standing there with a tray on which sat three bowls of ice cream she could see were piled high with toppings, Clara smiled and told him, "I don't think you've picked up enough dessert."

Head whipping over to look at the bowl being placed in front of her, Maddie gasped a smile as she took the spoon the Doctor offered and began looking it over, trying to find the just right place to begin her assault, choosing a chocolate drenched bit of strawberry ice cream, and a bite of banana that sat neatly underneath. Watching her daughter settle the spoonful into her mouth with the tiniest of satisfied moans, Clara laughed lightly before looking back to the man still standing.

The Doctor sat to Clara's left and he listed drearily, "Two scoops of plain vanilla, with chocolate drizzle," before settling her bowl in front of her and handing her a spoon.

"I happen to like plain vanilla," she told him confidently, straightening in her chair to poke at her dessert, eyes drifting to her daughter, happily eating away. A part of her understood then, that it was all a dream, and she missed the times she treated her girl to something like this for special occasions, or simply really long weeks where Clara needed something ridiculous that came with Maddie's excited squeals.

Gesturing at his bowl, almost more piled up with toppings than Maddie's, the Doctor replied staunchly, "And I happen to like chaos." Then he turned and told the little girl meekly, "In my desserts, otherwise chaos is generally bad and I frown upon it."

Clara laughed, hand coming up to cover her mouth as she took in the scared look on his stupid face, and then she let her hand fall away and she asked, "What do you look like?" Before quickly correcting, "I don't want to see what you look like, but it is all that different?"

Maddie laughed and nodded. "It's very different," she told them quietly, pushing her spoon into her dessert to take another bite as Clara stared into the Doctor, who merely smiled and released a long sigh, neither comprehending the weight of the girl's words.

"We've got great seats," he told them both quietly. "Fireworks are about to begin," he pointed to the castle they could see, lit up just beyond the trees and a full crowd of people who'd gathered before it. He watched Maddie twist in her seat, spoon sticking out of her mouth as she waited, body jerking slightly with anticipation.

Looking the Doctor over, Clara wondered about him. She wondered whether he were so atrocious he thought his real face might have dissuaded her from agreeing to these weekly meetings. Bowing her head, she worried she seemed the type who would. Would she have? She imagined she wouldn't have. Her formative years had been spent harboring crushes on older men for their wisdom that twisted the faces of her friends in confusion before they'd usher her towards some pretty young thing in a poster from some magazine – the _boys_ she was supposed to be attracted to.

Clara smiled when she heard his seat grate against the concrete flooring, shifting himself closer to her to gently ask, "Are you alright?"

She glanced up at the tablet he was setting down between their bowls of ice cream and then into his concerned stare, and the way he hesitated to reach out, just before she met his hand halfway to hold it, settling their clasped hands atop her knee. "I just wonder, if I saw you on the street would you turn away in fear of my rejection, or would you say hello."

"I would say hello." His lips lifted and he nodded slowly, whispering, "I absolutely would, Clara."

She didn't hear the announcement that rang out then, but she registered her daughter's clapping, and somewhere closeby there was a loud boom followed by a series of sharp crackles that gave way to a chorus of the same, but Clara was enraptured by the thunderous beat of her heart as she inched forward to kiss the man in front of her. She closed her eyes as his fingers threaded through her hair to hold her steady as he deepened that kiss and allowed her a taste of caramel and chocolate blending into strawberry sauce that made her dizzy as people clapped around them. Clara grabbed hold of his open collar and she smiled with him, inching back to press her forehead into his a moment before turning to look at Maddie's smirk, hidden behind her hands as she stared up at them.

"You're kissing again," she giggled.

The Doctor huffed a nervous breath, and then he asked her, "Would you like us to stop?"

Considering it, Maddie shrugged, then admitted, "It's not so terrible." Then she gripped her chair and sighed, "I'll just watch the fireworks that you're _missing_ ," she groaned, "Because you're _kissing_." Her lips pressed together into an amused grin at her words and she turned away as Clara looked back to the Doctor and released a small laugh.

He leaned into her and told her quietly, "You know, she's quite sassy for someone so young."

Head tilting, Clara offered, "She gets it from her mother."

Brow rising, the Doctor straightened in his chair and laughed, "I'll consider myself warned then!"

Clara lifted her chair, settling it beside the Doctor's, and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder and smiling when his arm came up around her, fingers pressing into her arm just before his lips met the top of her head softly. The fireworks continued, bursting up into the night sky in an array of bright colors and shapes, occasionally a heart or a smile would appear and Maddie would clap, jumping excitedly in her chair before pointing, glancing back at them to make sure they had seen.

On a sigh, she glanced up at the Doctor – at Mr. Smith, she thought, taking in the satisfied way he watched her daughter, so much the father her girl had deserved – and she stated quietly, "Thank you for bringing her here," and when he looked to her, brow dropping slightly, she added, "Thank you for sharing your memories with her."

Mr. Smith, she tried to force herself to think, because she knew that removed him from the magical 'Doctor' persona, nodded and replied softly, "You're welcome, Clara."

She could see there were a million things he was thinking to say in that moment, and she wanted to ask him, but she supposed she knew in a way. He was missing his own daughter; he was missing his wife. He was missing the people he'd shared those memories with originally – at least she imagined that's how he'd been there before, with his family. He was thinking about how his own child liked her ice cream and how his own child got excited about fireworks and how his own child would fall asleep on the car ride back to the hotel from the park. She watched Maddie yawning after the spectacle came to an end and she found herself silently crying.

Their day was coming to an end.

Their night, she corrected – _their dream_ – and she reached for the girl who slid off her chair and approached her, seeing that sadness in her eyes because she knew all too well what was coming. The disconnect and that return to whatever it was her girl returned to when these visits ended. Clara hugged her to her body, feeling the warm breaths she took wetting the bare skin at her chest and she listened to the small whimper before lifting her to look into her reddened eyes and her trembling lips.

"I don't want it to end, mummy," she managed, looking towards the Doctor to ask, voice thick with unshed tears, "Can you make it start over?"

He frowned and he reached for her, pulling her easily to cradle in his arms as Clara inched into him again, her hand finding Maddie's to hold tightly as the man lamented, "The dream world isn't so very different sometimes from the real world – beautiful days come to an end, but we have to remember what was important about them: we had this beautiful day." His hand rubbed at her arm and Clara could see her free hand was wrapped around the thumb of his right. "Today we had a beautiful day," he repeated softly, "We saw so many wonderful things. We screamed and we laughed and we sang and we skipped, do you remember the skipping, Maddie?"

She nodded against his chest, smiling as she recalled, "You tripped."

His hand curled around hers as he laughed, "I did trip, almost took your mother down with me, didn't I?" He glanced up at Clara as she wiped at her eyes, looking to the two of them, and then the Doctor asked her daughter, "What was your favorite part, Maddie? All of the lands and all of the rides and everything and anything – what was your favorite part?"

The girl raised her dark eyes to look at him, and then she looked to Clara, and she told them both honestly and a bit sheepishly, "This."

Clara laughed, "You stuffed your face with a churro as long as your arm and then met Mickey Mouse, but this, us here crying like fools after amazing fireworks, this is your favorite part."

Lifting herself up, Maddie reached out and Clara shifted into her embrace, but the girl's other arm remained wrapped around the Doctor, pulling them both into her to hold fiercely, enough to frighten Clara just a bit. Clara's right arm lay comfortably above the Doctor's left on her daughter's back and she smiled as the girl rested her chin in the divot their adult shoulders created, and she told them, "Having a mum and a dad is my favorite part."

The Doctor met Clara's eyes and she could see the apology there, just before he whispered, "She's fading."

Nodding, a wordless "I know," on her lips as she blinked away tears, Clara turned to kiss her daughter's cheek and close her eyes as that body slipped away and she was left holding tightly to the Doctor, burying her face in his shoulder to take several long breaths of him, his scent entirely familiar to her in a way that both saddened and intrigued her. If she tried, she couldn't remember what her husband had smelled like, but this man – this man she'd never properly met – she knew she could recognize him in a crowd just off his soap and that little something extra every man had.

Or at least she thought she could.

"I'm so sorry," he finally told her, hand brushing over her hair before he pulled her back to watch her nod as he wiped at the remnants of tears on her cheeks with his thumbs. "I didn't mean for her to..."

"Fall in love with you," she interrupted, then Clara laughed, looking away shyly before meeting his stare again, "That's not something that can be helped, really."

His brow lifted slightly with a bit of understanding and she could see him swallow before he shook his head and his hands fell away, awkwardly gripping each other in his lap as he turned and the world around them fizzled away from the white noise of chatter and the twinkling lights in those trees to an empty flat she didn't recognize. Clara glanced around at the greyish walls and the emptiness of it, seeing they were sitting on the only furniture, a worn brown couch. It took her a moment to realize it was her flat.

Stripped of all of its color and life.

"You shouldn't fall in love with me," he told her.

"Because you're a construct," she stated for him. "An illusion."

Glancing back at her, he frowned, "Clara, there are men out there in the real world who could love you so much better than I could."

"Is that why you wear this face? Carry this persona? This," she reached up to flap at the collar of his open shirt before laughing nervously, "The stupid bow tie."

He lifted a hand slightly and argued, "People need the facade because if they knew the reality of me, they would leave. They always leave," he ended roughly, standing and waving an arm back at her to tell her, "I'm too harsh and too old and too _much_ for anyone."

Clara pushed off the couch and demanded, "Then why do it at all?" She grabbed his arm and pulled him to turn and face her and she asked him angrily, "Why go through the trouble with this job at all, and why connect yourself to me and my daughter, then make this deal with me, only to tell me not to do the same myself?"

"I'm sorry," he stated, "I never thought..."

"What, you made a deal that you could help us learn to love and trust again and now you can't handle that we can? That we can so easily?"

"No, it's that you can with me," he barked, then added softly, "And you _can't_." He bowed his head and shook it, "Not with me."

She watched his eyes water as his hands gripped each other, just in front of his heart, and she shook her head as he thought about what to say, his eyes travelling up towards the monochrome walls to stare into them instead of looking to her and she growled, "Don't you dare."

The Doctor turned.

"Don't you dare," she shoved him, " _Don't you dare_ pull away after all of this! Tell me to be brave enough to let someone in and when I do, you're too scared of your own heart to accept it." She punched his shoulder as he recoiled, and then she shot, "You _stupid_ man," before balling her fist, but letting it fall away instead of striking again.

His head tilted curiously as his hands drifted down from their defensive posture, and she clenched her jaw against the sadness there. Clara took a long breath as she looked over his features and she let her mouth fall open slightly as he apologized again, this time soundlessly, and she turned away, arms crossing over her midsection before lifting her left to chew at her thumb anxiously, thinking. And she realized she'd never asked when his family had passed on; she realized that even though he'd been willing to take a shot, maybe it might simply have been too soon for _him_. Clara let her arms drop heavily against her sides as she slowly twisted back around on her heel.

"I'm sorry," she told him quietly.

He nodded and his lips were pale from pressing into one another. "No," he told her, "You were right – I shouldn't get involved in these sorts of things, and I should have known I'd gotten in over my head when the warning bell went off in there, prompting me to disconnect over my own health." He smiled sadly. "You and your girl have awoken something in me I haven't felt in so very long, I'd become convinced I didn't deserve it anymore."

Swallowing, she watched him look around at the room and slowly it began to turn a deep red, with golden curtains through which a sunset filtered warmly against their skin, and her bookshelves and her pillows and her photographs and her bits and bobs that sat about. Clara turned and looked to Maddie's shoes and her toys scattered about strategically so she could play on this couch or that corner or on the windowsill. She smiled as she took a step towards the Doctor and reached up, patting at the hollow of his neck.

"Fill this spot in, would you?" Shaking her head and wrinkling her noise, she admitted, "Looks a bit strange without it."

He laughed and the bowtie fluttered into place and he sighed when she tugged on either side.

"We'll take it slower, until you're ready," she teased, stepping back. "Perhaps a friendship?"

"Oh, Clara," he sighed, arms rounding her body to hold her to him, "Haven't we gone past friendship?"

Nodding, she pursed her lips, then squinted and admitted, "Yes, but there's a bit of a wrinkle."

"John," he supplied, "I know." He watched her as she smirked. "What do you propose?"

Clara gripped the sides of his shirt and said honestly, "I don't know."

"Should we duel," he teased, smiling and leaning into her until she laughed.

"No," she said through a giggle. "There'll be no dueling over me."

"So you'll simply continue to date the both of us?" The Doctor asked coyly.

Shrugging, Clara studied him, and then explained blankly, "I'm not committed to either of you – you're obviously hiding something and I get the oddest impression he's doing the same," she watched the joke leave his face as she gave a firm nod. "We'll see where things lead; suppose it's the most logical thing to do."

"Logic," the Doctor informed her, "Is not always as logical as it seems."

Leaning into him with an exhausted yawn, Clara whispered, "Nothing is logical right now, Doctor, but..." and she disappeared like a breeze, leaving the Doctor holding the air.


	26. Chapter 26

Sitting at Maddie's bedside, her daughter's little hand pressed firmly to her lips, Clara thought about how ridiculous it all had become. John and Mr. Smith. And they knew one another, had probably had conversations about her – she knew they had, otherwise they wouldn't have been in a place with Mr. Smith that she'd mentioned to John. They were friends, she surmised, and she risked their friendship by continuing with both, but she also knew they knew and neither seemed to object.

"What do I do, sweet pea?" She asked her daughter. "I'm embarrassed to say I like them both, almost equally in spite of the differences; in spite of the situations through which we meet." Taking a long breath, she settled Maddie's hand atop the girl's stomach and shrugged, "Amy would tell me to shag them both," she glanced at Maddie, "Which isn't a word I expect to hear you repeat when you wake up."

The thought made her smile. If her daughter could hear her, some incredibly inappropriate conversations had happened in the space around her. A few small disagreements; some outright fits of rage. She looked over the pale skin and wondered if it would affect her at all. Would it unlock some remnant of her father's psychosis in her tiny, but wonderful mind – or would she learn from it all to be more like her mother. Controlled and patient, lashing out with enraged outbursts when it became all too much.

Was either better than the other, she thought with a long sigh.

"Would it be alright if I brought John to meet you? Here," she pointed her finger into the bed, "In the waking world?" She looked to the heart monitor to watch the steady jumps. "Just to know if he'd be alright knowing this is a part of my life as well."

Clara frowned and picked at her nails, fighting the urge to chew them, settling back in her seat to think about how John might react, seeing the girl in person. Would the hospital frighten him? Bringing back some old memories of his own daughter and wife, dying in a similarly sterilized environment where there was little he could do. Or would he be gentle and read to her and hold her hand and stroke her hair. Would he pat her cheek and kiss her forehead before they departed and promise to take care of her mother for her in her absence.

Would he be _kind_?

She imagined so, and the thought thumped through her heart on an enlarged beat as she glanced up at the clock, knowing she should go. "Today," she told her daughter, "We'll learn a bit about everything, but mostly maths – I heard rumor there'd be a new teacher coming in, specialized in that sort of thing. Hopefully they'd help me out as I'm quite rubbish at it." She laughed and slowly stood, bending to brush her daughter's bangs away to kiss her forehead and whisper, "I love you and I will see you soon."

Of course the school was buzzing when she arrived and she made her way towards her classroom to start the day, immediately having to break up a small fight between two boys over a toy they both knew they shouldn't have out, and then she had to console the tears of a girl whose mother had cut her hair the night before. The children teased, as children do, and her lessons turned to conversations about feelings instead of working through the numbers; her lunch was had at her desk, figuring out how to get the back on course, even though they were making fantastic progress.

Trevor apologized to Liam; Molly hugged Trevor.

She smiled as she bit into an apple and then glanced up at the knock on her door, nodding Amy in and watching her slide into a seat in front of her, glaring at it as though it offended her. "When did these things get so small?" She grumbled.

Clara laughed, "Amy, you're nearly six feet tall, everything's bound to be a bit small to you."

The other woman offered an annoyed chuckle and then tapped her bright green fingernails against the wooden desk, lips pressing together as she rocked slightly – something that concerned Clara, who stopped eating and held tightly to her pen as she waited – and Amy finally blurted, "Have you met the new teacher?"

With an amused grin, Clara shook her head and gestured at her paperwork with the back of her pen, "Bit busy this morning, Amy, haven't had a chance to get to the faculty room. Why, is he deliciously hot? Or is he disgustingly repulsive, because I've really got to..."

"It's Danny," her friend interrupted.

"Danny," Clara repeated simply.

Lifting her eyes, she tried to determine whether this was some sort of weird joke, but her friend looked paler than usual and she was waiting for her response. Her response to the fact that the last man she'd dated, who'd disappeared without even a note, was suddenly back again. Now, Clara thought with a bit of a huff, now when everything was already complicated and confusing. She set her pen down and winced, scratching lightly at her wrist as she shrugged and glanced at the door, convincing herself he had better things to do than track her down.

"He's..." Amy began slowly, "Different."

She nodded. "And he was disinterested in me enough to not tell me where the hell he went, so I don't think I care how different he is." She took a breath and set her jaw, staring into Amy, who stood and approached her, leaning into the desk.

"Clara, you're generally a pretty good liar – terrifyingly so – but right now, not so much," she shook her head, not even the hint of a smile on her red lips.

Accepting the answer, Clara lifted the pen and gestured at the clock, "That'll be ringing in a minute; you should get back to your classroom before the kids get there."

"Say hi to him," Amy urged before turning, holding onto the door just long enough to state, "I think you'll understand when you see him."

She left alongside the shrill ring that deafened her and Clara straightened, focusing her effort on being as teacher-y as possible when the students returned, listening to their groans as she asked them to pull out their maths books for the afternoon. Clara tried to push the thought of Danny Pink out of her head as they silently did their work, an occasional hand rising to question something they didn't understand, and Clara did her best to break it down, remembering a time when she'd listened to that man talk about mathematical equations through a dinner, until he saw her blank stare and smiled.

"All over your head, isn't it," he'd teased.

Blinking, she'd responded lightly, "I do words, you do numbers. You do numbers mixed with letters that look like they're words, and to you they are – they're lovely sentences that make sense to you, telling you a brilliant story, but to me they're... _not that_."

She was frowning in frustration alongside her students when the bell rang again at the end of the day, listening to the rustle of paperwork and the thick thud of books shutting, alongside Trevor's exasperatedly hissed, "We don't need maths, we've got tablets that do the calculating for us!"

Clara ordinarily would correct him, but some part of her agreed. It was only budgets and government regulations on education kept old things in classrooms and forced them to turn away from their gadgets for answers and, Clara thought with a sigh as she began packing her things, it really _was_ good for them. She didn't notice the hand that wrapped around the doorframe, or the smiling eyes that watched her push her things into her bag until she lifted her head to see him there.

For a moment she didn't speak, she merely stared, mouth dropping slightly as she tried to think of something to even say. Not much had changed. His eyes still carried that sleepy amusement that could so easily become seductive in a blink and there was still that ever-present smugness, as though he knew so much more than he should. He still wore khaki slacks and button up shirts with their sleeves buttoned perfectly at his wrists and he still stood assertively in the way that made her blush like a school girl, but when he took two steps in, she saw the swagger with which he usually walked was gone, replaced by something robotic that had her narrowing her eyes and tilting her head.

"What…" she began softly, finger coming up to point before her hand twisted and fell away, "What…" she tried again, but her voice disappeared as she realized it was probably inappropriate.

But Danny shook his head and stopped, the wheeze of some mechanics coming to a halt just barely audible as he glanced down and then raised his head to explain, "Exo-Suit. Sort of a thing you need when you take a couple bits of shrapnel to the spine."

Clara's eyes pinched shut and then she inched closer, head shaking as she uttered quickly, "I'm sorry, Danny, I'm so sorry – what happened?" Then she looked to him, "No, no, you don't have to, I mean, I don't really, I mean, if it's not something you want to talk about…"

He laughed and she stopped, smirking up at him, watching him raising a silver hand to stop her with a simple, "It's ok, Clara," and then he tilted his head to smile at her, knowing she would go red in the face before he sighed and told her, "Suppose it's better I tell you than you get it from someone else after it's been through a few twists and turns. You deserve that after..." he trailed, head bowing momentarily, remembering how he left and how he hadn't contacted her since – something, Clara could see, that had weighted on him.

She bit her lip and waited while he undid the cuffs on his sleeves and rolled them up slightly, showing her the suit that hugged at his body, like waves of metal plates that curled around his muscles, linked by long thin strips like bones running up the sides of his arms. Danny lifted his right foot and tapped it lightly against his left leg, the clink of his shoe against the suit coming with his chuckle.

He shrugged, "It's not so bad really. Bit of a pain when it rains, gotta oil up like the tin man or I'll rust up."

Clara frowned.

"I'm kidding, Clara," he stated, laughing quietly with her before shrugging. "We were doing a sweep through what looked like an abandoned neighborhood and everything seemed alright. Cleared the houses and were heading home – all jumped in the Humvees and then our caravan hit an IED, lost the first two vehicles in the blast, and we got out to check for injuries, for survivors, and that's when the attack came. Just swarmed in from around us."

His eyes left hers and she could see them dull just a bit before he considered the rest of the story. And Clara could see there was so much of the story, but he shook his head, shaking away those memories that left him sniffling and wiping at his face with a rough knuckle. She wanted to tell him he didn't have to tell her, but as soon as she started to, he stopped her again, giving her a smile and moving past her to lean against her desk, taking several steps that seemed stiff to her.

"Ambush lasted only a few minutes before our air support came through, but it was enough. We can only be thankful they didn't have armor piercing rounds so we took a few shots, but not many were lethal." He smiled. "Bombs though, they tend to send things flying in unpredictable directions. Took a big hit to the back and a bit slipped through just between the helmet and the vest, another between the vest and the bum, severed bits of important things, the doctors told me. I didn't ask for details. Just asked them to patch me up as best they could and that's when they told me about the suit. Sort of experimental, using it on paraplegics and quadriplegics mostly, but in a few years it'll be pretty standard – probably become military uniforms."

Danny frowned, eyes closing momentarily, and she knew the idea angered him.

"Is it," she began slowly before finishing, "Uncomfortable?"

Shaking his head, Danny undid his shirt a bit so she could see it rounded the base of his neck and seemed to cover the majority of his body. "Connects in through a slot at the base of the skull, wired directly into my brain. I think, it interprets, and I can mostly move about like normal."

"What happens when you have to…" she thought a moment, rubbing at her temple, "Take a bath?"

He sighed, "There's a service, comes by in the evening. We do a bit of therapy, discuss my goals and accomplishments – I feel a bit like I'm stuck in an AA meeting for a while, but I get a sponge bath at the end of it just before they leave."

"Oh," she teased, "Beautiful woman with a glorious bosom?"

Toggling his head, he offered, "Overweight man with a balding head who smells of trout."

Clara wrinkled her nose while Danny laughed, and then she questioned, "Do they come back in the morning?"

"Nah," he sighed. "Suit's programmable and magnetic. It sort of plugs itself in."

Shivering, Clara asked, "So it crawls up to you in bed and sort of shags you awake."

"That's," he squeaked as she giggled, "That's terrifyingly accurate."

Clara laughed and shook her head, "I'm sorry, that is a bit horrifying."

"Not entirely off," he accepted. "Good thing is, I do have some mobility in my arms, can breathe on my own. They're pretty positive I'll regain upper body use completely which would mean moving to a half suit." And to her hopeful look, he stated, "Yeah, they're not as positive about the legs, but we'll see. Every day is a new day, right Clara?"

She nodded slowly, and then turned to look at the door a moment before turning back. "Has anyone told you about..."

Danny frowned, head dropping slightly as he asked, "What are her odds?"

"Can we not talk about the odds," she shot quickly. Hand fluttering up and dropping, she laughed anxiously, "I really don't want to talk about the odds with her – Maddie's asleep and like your arms, and hopefully your legs, one day she'll wake up. That simple."

"Clara," he sighed.

"No," she shook her head. "That simple."

"It's never that simple, Clara," Danny told her honestly.

She nodded, "I know, Danny. I know it really isn't, but I promised her that I wouldn't let the odds affect me; I promised her that I would always know that she'd wake up, so she'll wake up, ok?"

Clara could see him absorb it; she could see the understanding dimming the sparkle in his eyes as he understood if she wouldn't tell him, then they were bad, and then he forced a smile and he looked to her. "So, you and I, I know we didn't really leave off on good terms."

"We didn't leave off on any terms," Clara interrupted, "You just left."

Bowing his head again, he nodded, and he offered, "I'm sorry, Clara, I know that probably wasn't the best," he looked up at her raised brow and lifted a hand, stating, "Ok, I know it wasn't the best, but that's the thing when you're in the military and someone asks you to go on a top secret assignment for a few months, you really can't tell anyone. Not even the people you love." He shrugged and looked away and she could see his small smirk.

And she punched him in the shoulder, grimacing and dropping her bag, curling a hand around her fist as he stood and tried to get a look as she stepped away, telling him firmly, "Don't pull that on me, Danny – if you'd loved me, you'd have found a way to tell me."

"Clara, it's not that simple," he shot.

"Yeah," she groaned, looking to her reddened knuckles, "It's never that simple, right?"

He took a long breath and waited until she looked back at him before he asked quietly, "Look, Clara, I'd like to go out for coffee, or dinner, get caught up."

"You went off on a secret mission and got blown up; I got left behind and run off the road by my ex-husband and my daughter is in a coma – we're caught up."

"You're angry," he stated plainly.

She laughed, "Angry."

"You're enraged," he corrected.

Nodding, Clara sighed, "I'm… in a complicated situation right now, is all." Her hands came up and she closed her eyes, telling him on another small nod, "I understand you were serving Queen and country, I get that; it's just I was just thinking everything was alright, and then you disappeared and then, with what happened and my best friend's daughter dying and Maddie..." Clara scratched lightly at her temple, dropping her arm as she laughed. "Everything's been a bit like some sideways dream since then and now it's starting to normalize and you're back and that's confusing."

"Ok," he told her, standing and rolling his sleeve back to button at his wrist. "I knew you'd take some time and I know we can't just pick up where we left off. I was just hoping we might be able to talk, even just as friends."

"Friends," she repeated, then looked up into his worried eyes. Eyes she knew had seen too much, she considered as she glanced at the metal ring around his neck. "I'm sorry, Danny." Sighing, she forced her lips up. "Friends, we can try to get that back again, of course."

He released a nervous breath and asked again, "So maybe not this week, but when you're ready, maybe we could just have lunch in the lounge, or out by the parking lot under that tree where we used to…"

She laughed, blushing again, and then she finally picked up her bag again and slung it over her shoulder, still rubbing at her knuckles, knowing she'd bruised them against his suit. Being an idiot, she thought. She looked over Danny's face and she gave him a nod, telling him, "Yeah, sure, we'll catch up."

"Ok," he exhaled, nodding and smiling foolishly – the way he always did; the innocent way that had endeared him to her from the start.

Clara smiled, knowing it'd be better to end the conversation – knowing it wasn't going to be their last – as she repeated, "Ok."


	27. Chapter 27

"Not ok," Clara told Amy roughly over the phone. "Completely not ok."

Her friend laughed and she heard something clank and something else clatter and she imagined Amy in the kitchen with a glass of wine, standing over a mess of pots and pans, wooden spoon in her hand, shrugging over it all because if she failed there was always takeaway. Clara leaned back on her couch, looking at the remnants of a sandwich she'd purchased on the drive home, lying on its wrapper on her coffee table and she sighed. She missed cooking her own meals, but she seldom did it – it was a reminder that there wouldn't be that second little mouth to feed. Those little eyes that looked over it all; the little voice that asked, "Are you sure this is right, mummy?"

There wouldn't be that curious girl sitting on a stool at her side, singing songs or listening to her stories or making up her own. She smiled for a moment, remembering the wide eyes that would stare up at her and the little hands that would wave around as she spoke, gestures she'd inherited from her mother. Clara dropped her head back and listened to the muted noises behind the laughter on the other end of the line. The door closing and the muttered greeting from a tired man.

The peck of a kiss.

"Clara," Amy finally stated, "I know it's not completely ok, I know it's not even near ok, but you have to admit, getting pulled away for some mission with the military is a far cry from just dumping you for a side chick, or man – was Danny the sort to, I mean, some of us thought..."

Groaning, Clara replied, "No, and I know, that's what makes it so frustrating – I can't even be mad at him."

The other woman sighed, and then told her, "He almost died, Clara."

She pinched her lips back between her teeth, nodding at nothing.

"I think you should go out, have a drink," Amy asserted. "Have a..."

Clara scoffed, "I'm not shagging him, Amy, my God."

She expected a laugh, but there was silence a moment before she finally replied, "I was going to tell you to have a talk with him – really have a talk."

"Why should I?" Clara questioned, bringing her head back up to look at the muted television show playing on the screen across the room. Something she imagined had a terrible laugh track from so long ago.

"Because," Amy began softly, and Clara could hear in her tone she wasn't about to tell some joke. The time for jokes had passed, it seemed. "Because you guys dated for long enough that Rory and I thought maybe it would get serious. Because he loved you and he loved Maddie. Because he's a good man, Clara, and you deserve that."

Huffing a laugh, Clara replied, "And what about John?"

"Let's face it," Amy grunted, "John's temporary. He's your side dude."

Immediately Clara shot, "He's not my side dude, Amy."

There came the silence again, curiously – considering the anger Clara knew she'd heard in her voice – and then quietly, her friend asked, "Wait, you actually like the old guy?"

"Well, I don't just see him as some old guy," Clara shot. "He's a good man as well, good enough for my attention and certainly good enough to respect enough not to start dating another man..."

"What about the Doctor?" Amy's voice was even and it worried Clara slightly because she couldn't read that tone and she didn't know if she was being judged, or merely questioned.

Picking at her skirt, she shrugged and admitted, "I don't know what he is. He's..." she squirmed, "He's something entirely different; something I can't quite classify."

"Oh no," Amy groaned, "I knew this would happen."

"What?" Clara asked forcefully. "What would happen?"

She could almost see Amy rubbing her forehead, eyes closed shut as if some headache had instantly appeared, and she slowly told her, "You've fallen for both of them, haven't you."

Clara laughed nervously, but then she stated, "So what if I have? You think one's a _side dude_ and the other is a fantasy, so what does it matter – in a few months they'll probably both be gone and we'll have a laugh over it all with Rory and a bottle of wine."

"And that's why you should talk to Danny," her friend lamented. "Danny won't leave in three months; he's been sidelined altogether from the military. Heard him tell the Headmaster he was looking to settle down, start a normal life, earn tenure as a teacher, maybe even take his position one day." Amy chuckled. "He actually said that. Australia grew an island for a moment, I think."

"And that's why you want me to talk to him? You think I should settle down with him?" Clara challenged. "You think I should just settle?"

"No," Amy shouted. "Clara, I would never tell you to settle – you're too great for that, but Danny is great as well. Don't think I've forgotten all the conversations we had about him." She paused and then reminded, "You were completely smitten with him, but you always said it felt like the timing was off and maybe now... maybe now is the right time."

Nodding slowly, Clara softly sighed and then said, "I remember."

She smiled at nothing because she could. She could remember Danny in her living room playing dolls with Maddie and checking on her in the kitchen and teasing her about her lack of proper cooking skills. Clara could remember him tucking her daughter into bed and kissing her goodnight and telling her it wouldn't be proper for him to sleep over. Looking around her apartment, she nodded again and she listened to Amy's patient breathing a moment as the other woman stirred at something and then tapped the spoon against the edge of a pot.

And then she heard Rory's hushed voice, whispering a concerned set of words she couldn't decipher and Clara smiled, imagining the man was chiming in with an opinion just before Amy asked, "Clara?"

"Yeah, Amy," Clara replied with a roll of her eyes. "I know, I know. I'll talk to him tomorrow. That'll be great, dating three men at once – not a chance in hell anything could go wrong." There was silence and Clara sat up, "Amy?"

There was an odd sniffle and Clara stood, repeating her friend's name as everything became muffled and she was already moving towards her keys, ready to drive over, when Amy told her tearfully, "I'm pregnant."

Eyes watering, Clara whispered, "What?"

The laughter she heard was nervous, but Rory's hoot of happiness had enough confidence for the both of them as Amy explained, "I've taken so many of these tests, I tend to piss on them and forget them in the bathroom and I got so wrapped up in cooking and in you and Danny, and Rory just went in," she laughed again, this time with more gusto, "He found it lying there – and it's positive, Clara. It's positive."

And then the woman began to cry and Clara took a breath, ready to call out to her friend before Rory told her gently, "Clara, Amy's a bit emotional right now," he paused, "I think you understand," before he shushed the woman Clara knew he was consoling and then ended, "It'll be alright – you know that. She'll see you tomorrow."

"Ok," Clara breathed, "Ok, Rory, tomorrow." Then she blurted, "Please tell her I'm happy for her, she needs to know that I am."

He laughed and replied softly, "I know, and I will Clara, thank you."

The mobile in her hand went silent and she took a few steps backwards, staring into it until the backs of her legs touched the couch and she fell into it roughly, feeling her heart hammering in her chest. She knew that behind the elation her friend had to be feeling, there was that tiny voice that said, " _You've done it, you've replaced your daughter_ ," and she knew it would crush her for a little while. She also knew Rory would fix it. He would remind her that this baby wasn't some replacement – they'd been talking about a second child before the accident.

Clara shook away the tears and she frowned, staring down at the device in her lap, trying to work out why she was sad and understanding slowly swallowed her. There stood a good chance Clara would never truly talk to her own daughter again; there stood a growing chance as the years passed by that Clara would never have the option of having a second. She pushed off the couch and tried to erase the thoughts from her mind, she tried to laugh them off and pick up her schoolwork and leaf through the pages.

Eventually she began to clean her house and she turned on music she hadn't listened to since she'd been a teenager, finger sliding the volume up as she closed her eyes and told herself there were more important things in life than dwelling on that pain. Concentrating on the hope for her daughter, she went into that back room and she dusted off her stuffed animals and she brushed the hair on all of her dolls and she settled Mrs. Moffat on her bed, putting Snuffy the Elephant into the place Mrs. Moffat had previously occupied at a small table set for tea.

Laughing, she plucked a book here and there off a low shelf to thumb through. She read aloud to the plastic glassy eyes that watched her. Clara sat beside the bed and held Mrs. Moffat to her chest and she sobbed until the knocking on her front door startled her and she pulled herself up, pressing fingers into her cheeks to wipe away the tears as she made her way towards it, brow dropping the more she thought about who it could be. If it were her father, alerted by neighbors to the volume of her music, he would understand with two words; if it were some delivery, they would merely watch the doorframe as she signed their tablet; if it were Danny, she would punch him in his metal chest and tell him to leave her alone.

Or, she thought as she opened the door to look up at his dark eyes, staring down at her with a world of concern as his right arm lowered, the bouquet of flowers held within them almost withering with his hopeful mood, she would fall into that hardened plate of metal and cry harder. She cried as he raised a hand disjointedly to hold her to him and she cried as he inched her back into her flat to lead her towards her couch to sit and she cried as he merely waited patiently for words she never got to say.

Clara fell asleep in his arms, trying not to think about how different they felt from the last time he'd held her, trying not to think about how she didn't deserve this kindness from him without explanation, trying not to think about anything at all. She woke in her bedroom to the silence of four in the morning and for a moment she listened to the buzzing in her ears, until she could almost hear the gentle thumping of her sleepy heart. She picked herself up and she made breakfast and spent a half hour in the kitchen holding a cooling mug of coffee and staring into a plate of scrambled eggs, eyes drifting to the recipe for an omelette that was stuck to her fridge.

She smiled then, thinking about John and how he'd be nearing the end of his shift.

Taking a determined breath, she set the mug down and moved to shower, turning only to pick the mug back up and gulp down its contents with a grimace. She readied herself for the day and then plucked her mobile up from her coffee table, dialing as she entered her car and telling the man on the other end quietly, "Could you meet me somewhere? Just for a bit?"

He merely responded with a solemn, "Of course."

Clara saw him when she pulled into a space at the hospital, standing there with a dark backpack slung over his shoulders and a weary look on his face. He was, she knew, exhausted, but he was there anyways. Moving towards him, she reached out a hand and she sighed at the firmness of his grip, knowing he was tired, but he was there _for her_ , and they moved together into the building and up the lift and through the doors to the ward and down just a little to a door that sat closed, behind which her daughter rested.

"I know this isn't fair to you, but I don't know if I'm strong enough to see her alone right now, but I need to see her and there's not really anyone else..." she began to explain, looking to her hands and huffing out a nervous breath. There wasn't anyone else she wanted to see her if she broke down. She began again quietly, "I'm sorry," but John stilled her twisting fingers within his hands and she glanced up at him.

Tilting his head towards the room, he told her simply, "Let's go in and say good morning, shall we, Clara?"

She smiled tightly and nodded her head, lifting her badge to swipe against the pad and pressing into the room to look at her little girl, lying peacefully in that bed. Clara glanced back at John as he entered behind her and she could see his eyes had gone red, watering slightly as Clara turned away and made her way around the bed to sit beside the girl. She pulled her regular chair close and reached up to hold Maddie's hand, rubbing away the cold and kissing it before glancing up at John.

"Hey Maddie," she whispered, "Remember my friend I told you about, John. He's here."

Her heart raced as she waited to see how he would react, and for a moment he stared down at Clara, questions darting out at her until he seemed to settle on some sort of answer and he turned his attention to the girl. John stepped towards her and he looked her over, a smile lifting the edges of his thin lips just before he brushed at her hair, giving her cheek a gentle nudge with his knuckle and laughing.

"Hello, Maddie," he began, voice soft and even, "It's very wonderful to finally meet you."

Clara smiled, a bit of tension easing out of her shoulders as she watched him pull a chair closer to sit beside her, body bent slightly as he watched Maddie's slow breaths. He wrapped a hand around the girl's and Clara offered, "I told her about you a little. That you love to read and travel and cook, I think she'd like that about you."

John offered a sly grin and sighed, "Are you alright?"

Nodding, she admitted, "Old friend came back," then she corrected, "Old boyfriend," and to his look, she explained, "He's a good man and we got on well, but it's been over a year since I've seen him and things are different now and..."

"Do you want to date him, Clara?" He laughed. "We've made no stipulations of exclusivity – as I thought my acceptance of your arrangement with Mr. Smith proved." She watched him shake his head and look to Maddie before he glanced sideways at her and nodded, "If you need to know whether or not that relationship would have worked out and you're feeling guilty about feeling that way because we've started this between us, you're free to work it all out for yourself. You'll hear no jealous grumblings from me, I promise you that."

She chuckled and responded, "You can't guarantee that you won't be jealous."

Pointing, John supplied, "I didn't say I wouldn't be jealous, but I won't allow that to affect our relationship, whatever you decided that should be in the end." He nodded. "I understand that in spite of our seemingly sudden companionship, we do have inherent challenges to maintaining a long-term relationship, the most important of which is that my long-term and your long-term aren't going to coincide, unfortunately. I'm acutely aware of that, in case there's a question."

Clara watched him bow his head, and then he looked to Maddie and she saw sadness there, one that said he knew the girl would watch him wither and die so quickly because of his age if she woke and found him dating her mother. One that questioned whether the girl would be reluctant to accept him because of that, and whether the girl would grow resentful of him for offering such a short lifetime with them to begin with. Clara watched him take a breath and release a laugh of a sigh.

"What is it?" He stated.

"I don't care about your age, John." He lifted his eyes to her as she stared into him. "I don't care about what people will say about us and I certainly don't care about what people will think. And she won't either; I didn't raise her that way."

He smiled and politely told her, "You cannot control the wandering mind of a child, nor the questions they discover as they meander through their thoughts."

"No," she shook her head, "But I can discuss the thoughts with her and help her understand and answer the questions she has." She smirked then, looking to Maddie, before her lips dropped.

"What else is there?" John questioned, "Because one doesn't ring a man up in the middle of the night to meet their young daughter over a returned lover."

She flinched at the word before telling him, "My friend just found out she's pregnant and I'm beyond thrilled for her, but I didn't realize how it would resonate with me, emotionally." Taking a long breath, Clara confessed, "I always saw myself mothering more than one child and I accepted I might not a long time ago, but it's like all abandoned dreams, you still occasionally glance back nostalgically."

"Well," he sighed, "I'd say it's a bit early in our relationship to talk about babies."

Laughing, Clara looked to him and shook her head, watching his smile as she turned back to Maddie. "It wasn't meant to put you on the spot," she smirked up at him to add, "But now you know," before shrugging and lamenting, "It just brought back a lot of emotions I thought I'd properly bottled away."

John nodded thoughtfully and said, "Firstly, never bottle things away. It's not good for you, or anyone else around you. Secondly, congratulations to your friend – I know she'd been trying and I hope all goes smoothly. Thirdly," he looked to Maddie and then up at her heartbeat hopping away steadily on the screen at her side, "I'd never really seen myself fathering only one child until I'd convinced myself there wasn't another option, but who knows what the future could bring, given enough time and enough care."

They met each other's eyes and Clara felt an odd tickle in her stomach, just before she blushed and turned away with an idiotic smirk on her lips. She nodded and stated simply, "Noted," and then stood and looked down at Maddie with a sigh, watching John remain sitting, her daughter's hand still held within his.

"She's a beautiful little girl, Clara," he told her quietly. "Don't ever give up hope." He brushed her bangs away with a long finger and laughed, "Gooseflesh."

Nodding, Clara explained, "It's an automatic body response, they told me not to get too excited over it."

His eyes came up in surprise, "And why shouldn't you? She _feels_. It stands to reason if she feels, if just one of her senses is operational, then others could be as well. If she feels, then maybe she hears and understands and if she does, she knows we're here, having this awkward conversation over her." He laughed and slowly stood, lifting the small hand to settle atop her stomach, giving it a gentle pat before telling Clara, "I won't be jealous of this man, and I would encourage you to talk to him. These are things that should be sorted properly, Clara, not bottled away and ignored." He glanced at the clock, "Would you like to have coffee?"

Clara gestured at Maddie and opened her mouth, but his hands came up to stop her.

"I meant that I'd go fetch it downstairs and meet you back here, Clara – I know how valuable this time is for you both, I would never want to rob you of it, or interrupt it in any way."

She nodded and then sighed, "You're not an interruption, John, you're an addition."

He laughed to himself and then turned, hands pushing into his pockets as he left the room. Clara remained, quietly sitting back at Maddie's side until she returned and she held tightly to the hot cup he handed her, listened as he detailed a few of the dreams he'd interrupted, both of them in awe of the ridiculous and oft-times perverted unconscious mind. "This is told with the utmost confidence you shant be repeating it," he argued as she giggled.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she'd teased, watching him stare at her for a moment before he slowly closed his eyes and smiled, and then that smile turned into a small laugh. Clara sighed as she watched him continue to chuckle to himself just before he turned his attention to Maddie to continue speaking, as though sharing his tale with her.

They spoke back and forth until Clara knew she had to be going, and John escorted her down stairs after they'd said their goodbye's to the girl lying calmly between them. They made their way to the sidewalk where they'd met and he gestured towards his car, pulling his keys out slowly – slow enough she thought maybe he didn't quite want to leave – and so she stepped on tip toe to kiss him, grinning when the tiniest noise of surprise escaped him just before he reached to hold her arms, thumbs rubbing lightly into them, keys pressed into her left.

Backing away, she bowed to conceal her blush in the dawn light, and then she blinked up at him and told him quietly, "This Saturday, lunch my flat – you can bring one of your recipe books and we can make something together."

He was nodding, bottom lip pressed out as he looked around at the space to his right with a wince before asking softly, "Do you have a fire extinguisher?"

"Why?" She asked in shock.

Dropping his chin to look down at her with a devilish smirk, he explained, "Something tells me you're not a very good cook."

She backhanded his arm playfully and gasped, "I am insulted."

"Is it the truth though?" He laughed.

Shrugging, she twisted slightly on the spot and teased with a smile, "I suppose you'll find out."

"Otherwise we'll have to find some other manner of eating."

"I'm fairly certain there'll be something worth eating," Clara shot before she turned away, the burn in her cheeks spreading quickly as she listened to his breathy laugh. She glanced up at him and told him quietly, "Thank you, for being here."

Reaching to take her hand, lifting it to his lips to kiss gently, he bowed and replied, "It was an honor to meet her, Clara. Truly." Then he nodded towards her car and whispered, "Should get going, don't want to be late for school, Ms. Oswald."

Clara smiled, watching the twinkle in his eyes, and she took a short breath before turning and beginning to walk towards her vehicle. She slipped into the driver's seat and glanced back at him, seeing him looking to the hospital before he looked back to her to wave and she waved back, feeling foolish, and a little bit more in love as she thought back to the way he'd kissed her daughter's forehead just before they left the room and whispered gently in the girl's ear, "Sleep well, little one."


	28. Chapter 28

The week felt odd to Clara. Amy hadn't wanted to divulge the information until she was absolutely certain with a doctor's visit and Clara knew she didn't want to jinx anything by saying something too early, because they both knew it was early, so she hadn't said anything to anyone at the school. But she also hadn't said anything to Clara. Aside from a tiny wave here and there, the woman had been avoiding her and Clara understood – Amy knew her better than anyone and she knew aside from her elation, there'd be the twinge of sadness. Amy hated the sadness, and so she made appointments and talked with Rory and threw up more out of nerves than nausea.

And then there was Danny Pink. She knew seeing her the way he had in her flat had made it all too clear the state of mind she was in and she frowned as she thought about how that might hinder them, but he tested the waters at random. He flirted with conversation, telling her about his classroom full of curious students and asking her about hers; he grumbled about the children calling him a Cyberman while chuckling; he questioned Amy's strange behavior and shrugged it off when Clara told him it was nothing; he handed her a drink from the vending machine and walked away with a smirk.

Then he always found a reason to disappear on her, which only made her sad.

The week felt lonely and she found herself downing two sleeping pills on Friday evening just after a hurried dinner, and lying in bed, anxious for the dream world to take hold. Clara smiled when the forest bloomed around her and she laughed when she saw her daughter peek out from behind a tree that would dwarf the tallest man. Hide and Seek, she understood, and she rushed towards the girl, carefully and quietly rounding the moss encrusted trunk to bend and slip her hands underneath Maddie's shoulders to lift her as she squealed.

"Mummy," she called just before a giggle as Clara twisted her around. Her legs wrapped around her midsection and she held either side of Clara's neck, smiling at her before looking up. "Is John coming again?" She questioned.

Head tilting, Clara explained, "No, honey, maybe another time."

"Oh," she sighed. "I like when he's here."

Brow dropping curiously, she asked, "What about the Doctor?"

Maddie giggled and then wiggled out of her hold, rushing away with a wild laugh to run around the trees and through the forest as Clara chased after her. It was cool enough in the dreams, but she found herself covered in a sheen of sweat as they reached the edge of a long dark lake, Maddie crunching over the gravel towards the lapping water where she began picking up pebbles to examine. It was serene, like things usually were in these dreams, and she looked out at the mountains on the other side, curtained in a low mist that cleared out as the skies moved over them.

Crossing her arms, Clara smiled as she watched her daughter rummage around. Her curious little girl who'd become so adventurous within these dreams – she hoped she retained that when she woke. "Have we ever skipped rocks, Maddie?" Clara questioned lightly, bending to flick aside smaller stones to find the perfect stone.

Maddie shook her head, "How do you skip rocks?"

Standing at the water's edge, Clara turned the stone in her hand and then curled a finger around it, looking to her daughter who was twisting her fingers into each other as she watched, before swinging her arm deftly to send that stone hopping across the water. Maddie's eyes widened and she took a step towards her, mouth falling open as she shouted, "How did you do that?"

With a smirk, she searched the ground and told her, "Find a round flat one."

The girl immediately set herself to the task, fiddling through the stones until she plucked one up for her approval as she came to stand in front of her. Clara held her hands, trying to shift her fingers just right around the stone before she straightened and toggled her own stone between her hands, smiling as the girl watched before she slowly went through the motion, not releasing, but nodding at Maddie, who mimicked her and then giggled.

"A lot of times, even with tons of practice, they just plop in," she warned, "But if you throw it just hard enough and just right enough, it'll jump," she released her stone and watched it hop thrice before plunking into the dark water.

Maddie nodded and she was biting her lip as she turned, giving her arm several swings of practice before tossing the rock roughly and grunting when it splashed and sank. Clara's hands came up lightly to her mouth, afraid she'd be disappointed, but then Maddie turned, wide grin on her face dimpling her left cheek before she shrugged and jumped towards her, latching her arms around Clara's legs.

"It's alright, sweet pea, we can try again," Clara sighed, nodding and running her hands over her daughter's hair before holding her cheeks in her palms.

Shaking her head lightly, Maddie replied, "It's ok, mummy, I'm not sad."

"I can see that," Clara laughed, then she glanced around and side eyed the girl grinning back at her, "How about we go exploring?"

Gasping, Maddie released her and then took her hand, bending slightly to 'creep' towards the forest with her, looking about and whispering, "What do you think we'll find, mummy?"

"Mostly frogs," Clara stated.

The girl wrinkled her nose and spat, "Ew," before dissolving into giggles.

And then they heard a howl and they both straightened, Clara glancing down at Maddie to see the terrified look on her tiny face as her breathing began to quicken. "Is this you?" She questioned.

"It's dark here," Maddie stated. Branches crackled around them as the sun that had been filtering through the trees disappeared and the air that began to swirl through them became colder. Clara dropped to her knees and she turned her daughter to look at her now pale face. She shook her head and watched Maddie's bottom lip tremble. "Mummy..." she began.

Fingers gripping into her daughter's thin arms, Clara smiled and she tried to sound hopeful as she allowed, "It's ok, baby, it's alright – this is all your imagination, which means you can change it. Remember what the Doctor said, you control this. You can make it like it was, or you can take us somewhere safe."

"But what if _he's_ here?" The girl complained weakly.

No sooner had Maddie said the words, than a shock of laughter shook the very breath in Clara's lungs and she stood, grabbing hold of her girl to lift her up into her arms, pressing her forehead to the girl's. She tried to convince herself it wasn't real, but the terror burst in a cold snap out from her heart through her body. And then she focused and told her girl, "Maddie, he's not real, daddy isn't here." She held her securely and repeated, this time with more confidence, "Daddy isn't here, Maddie."

The girl shouted out against the wind now whipping their hair about in a frenzy, "He's here, mummy. He's here and he's going to get us."

"Maddie, daddy isn't here!" Clara argued. "He _can't_ be here. It's impossible."

But his voice echoed out, calling, "Where are my girls?" And then he added darkly, "Madeline, daddy has a present for you."

Clara shook her head as her daughter screamed, repeatedly and sharply, just as the Doctor had told her, "Bugger off! BUGGER OFF! _BUGGER OFF_!"

But it didn't seem to work as magically as the man had hoped and Clara took a terrified breath, telling the girl firmly, "Maddie, he's dead!" She fell back down to her knees and pried the girl's face up off her shoulder, crying out against the whistle of wind, "He's dead, Maddie, your father is dead! _Doctor_!"

In a blink, the girl was gone and the world was white and the Doctor was standing two feet away, a worried look on his face as he held tightly to a tablet and looked her over. She imagined she looked terrible, body still shaking, hair tussled, face red and tear streaked as she stared up at him, lips trembling. He looked to the chart and he tapped at it, then looked back at her and inched forward, but remained at a distance, trying – she imagined – to work out the best explanation.

"Did she have another seizure?" Clara asked hoarsely. "Is that what these nightmares are?" She looked to the ground and groaned, "Is this her mind deteriorating?" Her head snapped up at his silence and she barked, "Is my daughter dying, Doctor?"

He took a careful step and then knelt slowly in front of her and she thought her heart might stop at the notion that maybe there was no dying. Maybe her child was already gone and the last moments of her girl's life would have been lived in her mother's inability to protect her from the bogeyman. Clara dropped her backside onto her heels and lifted her hands to cover her face, sobbing into them as the Doctor hovered in the space in front of her.

"I'm sorry," he finally told her, hand touching her shoulder gently. "I had to stop the dream, separate you both for your own good, and my subconscious was with her, making sure she was alright before I disconnected her from the system."

Clara raised her head and asked in hushed voice, "She's alright?"

He smiled, brow creasing as he told her, "She's fine, Clara. She was scared, and a little confused, but she's fine, just resting back in her hospital bed. Just a nightmare," he assured, fingers massaging at her flesh, "Just a terrible nightmare."

Hands coming up and then flapping back down, Clara fully sat on the ground and lamented, "I don't know how to stop them. And I didn't realize before that for whatever reason she probably has more control over these dreams than I ever could – I don't seem to have _any_ control." She inhaled raggedly. "I can't protect my little girl from the things she fears most, I can't be her mother here the way I should be, I can't..." she shook her head, covering her mouth with her palm as she cried.

"Clara," the Doctor laughed, "Clara you're doing more than so many mothers ever would, or even could."  
Trying to compose herself, she sniffled hard and shook her head again, "No, Doctor, I couldn't protect her in the real world. I couldn't stop her father being in her life and I couldn't stop him from running us off the road and I couldn't stop her and her best friend from drowning, and if it weren't for some stranger who saw the accident, they'd both be dead. Little girls who wanted nothing more than to get home and play with their dolls and now one is dead and the other is dying..." she dropped her hand to the ground, trying to keep herself upright because her body wanted to collapse.

"She's not dying, Clara," the Doctor told her sternly.

Nodding slowly, Clara reached out and he took her hand, pulling her to stand and holding her steady, his hands planting at her waist, swaying her slightly as some old music began to drift into that white space. He smiled at her and he began to move, a slow dance she managed to laugh weakly at, and she wrapped her hands around his neck, letting him lead, knowing he was trying to calm her in the way he'd calmed her daughter. "What did you say to her?" She asked curiously.

He sighed and told her quietly, "The truth."

"I told her he died," Clara allowed. "I'd never told her that before."

"She asked me why you wouldn't have," he affirmed.

Clara looked to him. "What did you tell her?"

"That you were protecting her because you knew that even though he was a bad man, he was still her father and you knew a tiny bit of her had loved him." He nodded. "I told her that all you want to do is keep her safe and keep her loved and she laughed at that – asked if that was why you called me."

Smiling, Clara responded, "And what did you say to that?"

"That I'm just a good man trying to make sure everyone is safe," he shrugged, "But she told me I was wrong, at least partly. Cheeky little thing," he laughed, head toggling, "She said I was here because I loved you."

Body slowing, Clara asked, "And what did you tell her?"

Touching his forehead to hers, he whispered, "I told a secret."

"What was the secret?" She inquired.

He laughed, "It's a secret. I couldn't tell you; otherwise it wouldn't be a secret anymore."

"Fair point," Clara acquiesced. Then she asked, "But is she truly alright, should I wake and go see her – the last time she had a nightmare like this, she was having a seizure and..." his hands came up to grip her shoulders just tight enough to stop her words as he smiled.

"Hers is a special case – we monitor her vitals in a more thorough way than most clientele, all of her activity was normal for a nightmare," he explained, "Just a nightmare." Then he assured, "If there had been a problem, I would have disconnected you automatically and I would have called to let you know."

Accepting his answer, she shifted into him, resting against his chest as his hands resumed their positions at her waist and they began to dance again. Her breathing was off, stopped occasionally by the remnants of tears, and she tried to calm herself, even though Harry's voice was still echoing in her mind. It probably always would in some way, she thought to herself sadly. Her daughter, she hoped, would forget it with time.

She hugged the Doctor tightly a moment, thankful for his presence, and then she asked, "Do you think her memory of him will fade?" He hummed and she swallowed the lump in her throat to speak again, "Her father, there were good memories of him, but they were so long ago I don't know if she remembers. What she does remember are the bad times, the shouting matches and the lawyer's offices and the things he said to me when I finally took her away. And she remembers the crash, I know she does." Clara nodded. "Do you think those memories will fade with time, Doctor? Or will they haunt her for the rest of her life like they will mine?"

He laughed softly then, and she felt the sigh he released flutter over her hair. Then his arms shifted to wrap around her comfortingly. "Clara, everything fades with time; that's the nature of time. Your daughter will forget his face and she'll forget his voice and she'll forget those things said maliciously out of anger and she'll replace those memories with new ones – she'll replace them with moments shared with you, I promise you that."

"And what of you?" She sighed sadly. "You can't watch over us forever, will she forget you?"

"I suppose that depends," he responded with a light chuckle, fingers brushing through her hair as he pulled her back gently and looked down into her eyes. "Do you trust in love again, Clara?"

"If I did, would your job be done?" She smiled, at ease, now that she knew Maddie was safe.

His dropped his head back slightly, seeming to consider the question, and then he turned his eyes back down to look her over, hand pushing into her hair at the side of her head so his thumb traced over the edge of her ear. Then he leaned into her to kiss her delicately for a moment before inching back to sigh, "My job is done when you tell me to go."

"What if I never tell you to leave?"

On a laugh, the Doctor looked around the room and Clara smirked as it filled in with her flat. Somehow the magic of everything popping into place made it seem new, and she gripped his shirt lightly, laughing as the tele flickered on and some old movie played mutedly behind them as they stood in the space between her front door and the couch. The Doctor sighed as his eyes roamed over her face again, making her blush, and then he told her quietly, "Then I suppose we're going to have a problem, Clara Oswald."

Nodding, Clara asked, "What problem would that be?"

He smiled and poked her nose, "You're waking up."


	29. Chapter 29

Her doorbell rang a promptly at eleven in the morning and Clara stopped her vacuum to glance up at the time before blowing away a long strip of hair that had come loose from her ponytail and sighing. She left the machine where it stood and she crossed the living room space to pull open the front door, smiling up at John as he turned to grin down at her, a brown paper bag held in one arm, a small bouquet of flowers held in his free hand. He presented them to her with a small shy nod.

"I'm sorry if I'm too early," he said with a look to the vacuum, "But I suppose this confirms my suspicions," and to the tilt of her head, he offered, "Always consider cooking time when you're going to cook a meal – we said lunch, not mid-afternoon snack."

Clara laughed, feeling her cheeks go red as she took the flowers and then stepped aside, allowing him entrance before she closed the door and went to find a vase in the kitchen, waving back at him to follow. She gestured inside and allowed, "Ok, so my forays into cooking were more geared towards the delicate palette of a picky four-year-old, but I believe you'll find anything you need... somewhere," her hand did a circle before she smiled and excused herself, moving back into the living room to wrap the cord around her vacuum and shove it hastily into a hall closet.

She stood, just outside of that kitchen, listening to him taking a long breath, something whispered so lightly she couldn't make it out, and then he slowly began to rummage. Clara nodded to herself and then shifted around the corner, looking in on him rolling up his sleeves, a book already set out on the counter, the contents of his bag settled about and she smiled, then frowned, watching him pluck a cutting board out from behind a row of four cylindrical red storage jars.

Without glancing at her, he offered, "You could come inside – I promise I'm not a danger."

Clara laughed to herself, her right hand coming up to wrap around her left elbow. "How did you become so at ease in the kitchen?"

He smirked up at her as he began to remove full tomatoes from his bag and for a moment he remained silent as she watched, letting her eyes wander over the other items on the counter to question what they were making, and then he shrugged and told her honestly, "I got tired of take away."

Laughing, she nodded as he searched for two steel pots out from underneath her sink to settle on the stove and she asked timidly, "What exactly are we making?"

"I thought it'd be obvious," he answered, wide eyes staring into her just before he offered a grin and told her excitedly, "Pizza."

Clara's hand came up off her elbow and then landed against her thigh as she laughed, "We could have ordered pizza."

His finger shot out disapprovingly as he stated, "See, take away. Everyone always solves their issues with takeaway, but this," he gestured to the tomatoes, "This is something entirely different."

"Yeah," Clara groaned with a smile, "It's thirty minute's effort we could be using to lounge about while a driver brings us food we didn't have to work to pay for _and_ assemble."

"Be useful," he began her sarcastically, "Sauté the onions and garlic," then he questioned lightly, "You do know how to sauté things."

Clara raised a brow and responded, pushing off the wall, "I'll sauté something alright," and she smiled as he chuckled, moving to take the small tubs he handed her. Precut items, she knew, and she shook her head as she poured a quick circle of oil into a pan, twisting a knob on her stove and glancing up at him. "When did you pick up the cooking?"

"You mean," he stated softly, "Was this something I did with my wife?" He smirked at her shrug and Clara knew he could see her blush before he offered, "No, it was something I started afterwards – she was the cook in our house, always making sure we didn't go hungry, even after the longest of days."

Nodding, Clara stated, "I used to cook more, not often – I'd never brag about it – but I wanted Maddie to have that, a mum who cooked and baked, even if we burned a soufflé here and there." She opened the tubs and dumped their contents, hearing the small hiss coming from her side to let her know she'd done something wrong, but she ignored him, beginning to stir at the pot slowly.

Glancing at him, she watched him slice tomatoes and toss them into the empty pot, occasionally taking a fork to them to smash them down and she wanted to crack some joke about the bottle of ketchup in her fridge, but she remembered that firstly, the bottle hadn't been there in a very long time because it was only there at her child's insistence and second, she was somewhat fascinated. It occurred to her as she watched him, that they were making tomato sauce and while she knew it was fairly simple, she suddenly felt a bit fancy – a thought that turned her lips up in a smirk as she looked back down at her sizzling task.

"Incoming," he stated and when she raised her head, he turned over the contents of his pot into hers and she laughed as he gestured and shouted, "Come on, you've got to be quicker than that! Stir it up!"

He bumped her aside, delicately stripping her of her spoon while she feigned offense and then Clara leaned into him, watching him stir, sighing against his arm and feeling his eyes on her. Looking to the red pulp in the pot, she asked him quietly, "Are you like this all of the time?"

"Like what?" He questioned with a curious smile.

Shrugging, she inched back as he reached for a large plastic bag in which the dough sat to settle in front of her, searching in the tote he brought for the silver round baking tray she knew she'd find inside. Clara laid the pan out and she held the dough, trying to figure out how she could say what she was thinking, because she didn't want to say he was perfect. She knew he had flaws and she knew he would immediately point them out to her and his fears would turn the date sour instantly.

"Clara," he prompted.

"You just, seem to work," she finally told him, grimacing against the oddity of her words, looking up at him to see him staring peculiarly back at her before she clarified, "Do you fit in so easily with everyone else you meet..."

"No," he interrupted sharply before his shoulders dropped and he shook his head, hand lazily turning the spoon in circles. "My friend Jack would say I'm downright inhospitable." He laughed, then looked to her again, asking softly, "Are you like this all of the time?"

She nudged him with her elbow, shifting her focus to the dough. "Do I have to beat it or anything?"

He laughed, shaking his head, "It's already been kneaded proper, you just have to lay it out."

"Toss it in the air," she teased, hands coming up.

John snorted easily and replied quickly, "No, please don't."

Eyebrow lifting as she undid the seal on the plastic bag, Clara offered, "That's right, we'd like to eat, not scrape it off the floor."

"Have a chunky tomato soup paste covered in mozzarella cheese," he stated dryly.

Clara laughed and dumped the contents out, hearing his light intake of breath before she pressed her palms into the counter and grinned up at him, asking, "What have I done this time?"

Shaking his head, he informed her, "Might have been better to lightly dust the pan with flour, but it will be fine."

Waving a hand at him, she groaned, "Just make the sauce, John."

They laughed together quietly, and Clara sighed as they assembled the pizza, popping it into the oven she hadn't even noticed he'd been pre-heating, before he began to clean up and once he was wiping his hands on a dish towel, she reached for his right elbow, giving him a tug towards the hallway. His heavy brow floated up as she shook her head and giggled, gesturing into the hall with her head and smiling when he moved with her towards Maddie's room, stepping inside with a shared sigh.

"One day," Clara stated brightly, "She'll come back in here and declare she's too grown for stuffed animals and tea parties."

Bowing his head, John smiled and admitted, "She'll want to peel the pink off the walls and remove the hearts from her curtains because they're childish things and she's all grown."

Turning to him, she asked, "Is that what your daughter did?"

"Delia was on that cusp." Hands rising to clasp together, he sighed and admitted with a nod to Clara, "Not quite an almost teenager, but not quite a little girl anymore. She'd started making more friend at school, started liking new bands I'd never heard of," he shook his head, "Started shrugging away the dolls I'd offer her at the shops to look at earrings or necklaces or makeup with her mother." John watched her move towards the bed and he lamented, "I was terrified of the makeup, honestly."

Sitting carefully, Clara laughed, watching him lost in thought, and she sighed, "I was looking forward to all of that," she nodded, "Still am."

John huffed a laugh and then glanced up at her and exclaimed, "Mrs. Moffat!"

Brow dropping, Clara looked to the doll, trying to remember when she'd mentioned the doll to him, but she stopped trying, seeing him move past her to reach for Mrs. Moffat, lifting her up carefully to smile at. "That one's her favorite, my Gran gave it to her on her third birthday, said she was a special doll who would always be her best friend." Clara laughed as John stroked a hand over the neatly braided yellow yarn on either side of the doll's head.

"Then Mrs. Moffat should be with her," he told her.

Shaking her head, Clara bit her lip and then explained, "She truly is Maddie's best friend now, and I'm afraid she'll get lost there – or they'll accidentally toss her in the bin – better she stay here, waiting for Maddie to return. Like a best friend should."

The room went silent and Clara stared at John's shoes a moment before glancing up at him, watching him smile down at her as he nodded and stated, "I'm glad to hear you speaking so confidently about Maddie's return."

"It takes effort some days," Clara admitted. "I'd rather be talking about Melody waiting for her, than some worn doll my Gran found in a charity shop."

He sat slowly beside her and handed her Mrs. Moffat, sighing as he looked around. "I'm not sure what your spiritual beliefs are, Ms. Oswald, nor do I want to get into them, but I firmly believe that little girl is waiting for her best friend to wake up as well and she'll be here to greet her when she returns. One way or another."

Smiling, Clara leaned into him and groaned, "Don't call me Ms. Oswald."

He clapped a hand on her knee and laughed, "Come on, Clara, let's go check on our pizza, shall we?"

Hand falling atop his, she took it and stood, pulling him up so they could make their way back to the kitchen where she stated sadly, "Still have too many minutes to wait," then she turned to remind, "You know, take away would have been here by now."

"It gives you no sense of pleasure whatsoever, knowing what's cooking in your oven right now is made by our hands?" John moaned in protest.

Clara stared at him a moment, and then shrugged, "Be happier if it were in my belly," she nodded and pointed at him as she left him to go to the living room to switch on some music, "That's the terrible part about cooking – you have to smell it, but you can't quite eat it and by the time it's in front of you, the allure is gone."

His face contorted and he gasped, "What? No."

Laughing, Clara reached for his hand and she nodded when he took it, then shouted gleefully when he tugged her towards him, twisting her in mid-step and catching her before she fell, grinning down at her as she leaned into the arm wrapped securely around her back. Clara sighed as he helped her steady herself and then she moved with him, careful about his feet.

"I used to love going out dancing," he told her on a nod. "There are so many places, big and fancy, or smaller places tucked away between flashy signs and drunken madness – nooks of refuge for old souls to embrace music made with heart and strings and brass instead of buttons and switches and guesswork."

"You really hate modern music," she teased.

Shrugging, he responded honestly, "I really do."

"Then we should go, wrap ourselves up in this world of yours and enjoy a night out," she told him with a giggle, but no sooner had she said it than his face fell and he released her, taking a step away to brush his hand through his hair. "John?" Clara questioned.

Pointing, eyes avoiding hers, he offered, "I'll go check on the pizza."

Moving slowly to catch up, she frowned as she looked into the kitchen to find him staring at the ground just in front of the oven, his hands pushed deep into his pockets. His mind, she knew, lost in the same ridiculous thought. "What did I say?" Clara pressed.

He smiled, then lifted his eyes to hers, telling her honestly, "I'm sorry, Clara, it's not your fault – you're not aware of the judgment that passes around you." He sighed and she twisted her hands together, knowing he would explain. Afraid of what he would say, even though she knew what he would. "There's a sort of list of understandings that keep society balanced. Things you don't even think about; things you don't need to think about because they're inherent – you learn them as you grow, without ever being taught, because they're the things your growing mind learns to accept as 'normal'. Streets will be paved. Stores will have windows. Cars will have tires."

"What's this got to do with..." she began softly.

"People will behave in certain ways," he interrupted sharply. "Children will obey parents, men will be rough around the edges and women will be delicate and the elderly will fade from the center of things. Voices will be kept at a certain level, clothing will follow certain patterns, opinions will remain as inoffensive as possible," his hands came up, fingers curling slightly, "And yes, often people break from these molds in surprising and wonderful ways, but mostly society works because we have these unspoken rules in place. Manners, or P's and Q's, or etiquette, or whatever you'd like to call them, there are simply norms you mind learns to ignore, quite honestly, and when something deviates from these preconceived notions of normality, something inside of most rebels. Becomes irritated, or even angry, and judgmental and irrational."

Laughing weakly, Clara asked, "Then what rule have I broken? Asking a man on a date, as a woman? I thought we'd eschewed that particular bit of patriarchal society long ago."

He smiled in response and shook his head, hands dropping lazily at his sides, "Clara, it may not matter to you, or at least you think it matters very little now, but I'm old enough to be your father. Forgive me my reservations, they might take some overcoming, but I know how others would view it."

"I'm sorry, John," Clara stated, stepping into the kitchen with a nod, "But to hell what other people think." She laughed at the look he offered – one of surprise and bit of appreciation, "I understand, I completely understand your hesitation." She nodded slowly, "Am I some sort of escort, or simply looking to shag you to an early death for your money, or are you some sort of pervert, is our relationship of a deviant sort... and I don't care what other people think."

Pointing with a weak laugh, he stated, "You think it now, but you didn't hear what was said on our walk, too concentrated on sampling the sushi and..."

"Being with you," she spat.

He stared as Clara crossed her arms, fingernails lightly scratching a spot just beside her elbow, and then he turned away with a quiet, "I'm sorry."

"I don't understand," Clara argued, "If it's that much of a concern to you, why keep coming? Why not let me down gently and walk away?"

"Because," he laughed, eyes finding hers again, but the explanation failed him.

She smiled then, arms dropping away as she moved closer and gave him a quick nod and a simple, "Ok, John," before taking a long breath to consider the ultimatum she was about to hand him, knowing it was going to hurt him and knowing his response was going to hurt her. "It's Christmas in a little over a month's time and it'll be a new year shortly thereafter and I don't want to start a year in a doomed relationship nor do I want to end the year in one, so you have until the beginning of December to work out all of these issues you have," and to his opening mouth, she momentarily closed her eyes and raised her hands, stopping him to finish, "I don't expect you to have worked them all out, but I need you to have decided whether or not you and I are worth a few whispers here and there." Clara aimed a stare at him and his pale face, "I need you to have decided whether you and I are worth continuing as any more than friends, do you understand?"

For a moment he remained silent, taking several long breaths as his eyes remained focused steadily on hers, and then he let his head drop slightly and Clara felt her heart sink, but then he smiled as he told her gently, "Alright, Clara – fair enough." He looked to a calendar on the wall, seeing the X's marking more than half the days off November. He saw her birthday marked there in small letters and he understood there were so many things she wanted him to be a part of, she just needed to know he was worth her time.

"I'm sorry," she stated mutedly. "For doing this to you."

But John shook his head and touched her hand, lifting her hand into his to offer, "No, don't apologize, you're absolutely right – neither of us should waste more time than we can afford to, life is far too short for that. As we're both acutely aware."

Sighing, Clara took another step forward and she smiled, reaching to curl a hand around his arm. She looked him over, trying to work out what he was thinking, but he'd gone blank, and she called his name, watched the way the single word lifted the edges of his lips. Clara wanted to be hopeful against the rigidity she felt in his muscle and she laughed when the timer rang, startling them both back into a regular conversation about the coming holidays and their traditions.

But Clara noticed his hesitation to kiss her goodbye a few hours later, just before he left.


	30. Chapter 30

"She actually laid it on the line like that," Jack shouted, arms rising angrily before he shook his head and buried a hand into his hair and then pointed with his other, adding equally as loud, "No, John, you don't let her ultimatum you. It's a dick move."

Brow furrowed and dropped heavily over his eyes, John surveyed the silent area around them, watching his own breaths escape him and trail away into the darkness. Then he nodded and responded quietly, "She's not wrong."

Nodding furiously, Jack spat, "She's not right either."

Tilting his head, John asked curiously, "And who is right here, Jack, eh?" He waited, watching the other man consider it for just a second before he began again, "I'm lying to her, I'm deceiving her, and I'm leading her on twofold. I'm doing only slightly better with her daughter. So how is she wrong and how I am right?" He shrugged. "Clara wants to know I'm committed, she deserves that, it's simply unfortunate that I can't so easily give her the answer she wants."

Jack paced along the curb and he let his arms hang out at his sides for balance. Thinking, John knew, always thinking, and he finally sighed. "Tell her."

Bowing his head, John groaned in agreement, "It _would_ be better to break it before Christmas, before she gets the hopes up of me meeting family and friends; before she purchases some perfect gift, because she would," he ended on a laugh.

But Jack stood still and he elaborated, "Tell her about the Doctor."

Standing, John swiped a hand through the air, "Absolutely not – not at this juncture."

"Why not? Because you think she chose you?"

John looked away, but turned back swiftly, shooting, "You think she hasn't?"

"I think – from everything you've told me – she's a conflicted woman who's fallen for the both of you. And I think if you tell her you're not ready to commit, she's going to go full throttle on your alter ego in that dream world and then what? You play along? Again? Until she ultimatum's him into the same stupid conclusion you seem to have reached?" He shook his head, "Uh-uh, buddy, this has gone on long enough." He stepped into him and stated simply, "Tell her tonight, John."

Turning away from him, John growled at tree a few feet away and he reached to swipe his empty paper bag off the park bench, balling it up in frustration and tossing it towards a bin, missing entirely. "I'll transfer her files to you, explain that I've retired."

The other man laughed, "Whoa, whoa, that's a bit extreme. Let's not retire..."

"I'm not actually retiring, idiot," John snapped, eyes widening in frustration.

"Don't get defensive with me just because you're pissed at yourself." Jack moved to grab his bag, slinging it over his shoulders and he called, "Cool off, get some air, and get back to work."

Shoulders dropping, John listened to his friend trudge back towards the building and he slowly made his way towards the garbage on the ground, snatching it up and then letting it fall into the bin. He turned and watched Jack moving down the sidewalk and he frowned, shaking his head and going to retrieve his own items left on the park bench. He couldn't saddle her with that, he thought to himself sadly. Half a life already gone, the life left potentially riddled with ailments and deterioration and death.

He grabbed his bag and pulled his mobile from his pocket, dialing into his manager before gruffly explaining, "Lunch hasn't sat quite well in the stomach..." and excusing himself from the rest of his shift.

Clara was standing on a rock, bare toes digging lightly into the crevices, one hand held up over her eyes as she looked out in every direction and finding only her daughter, picking daisy's while humming an old song her granddad liked to play. She smiled down at the little girl prancing around in a purple dress with a high collar, a ridiculous red bow tie tied around her neck, and then she frowned back out at the landscape, giving up when the fog began to obscure her vision of the horizon.

"He's not coming, I don't think," Maddie offered with a small shrug. Then she asked, "Did you upset him?"

Laughing, Clara dropped down from the rock and poked her daughter's shoulder lightly as the girl giggled, responding quickly with, "How could I have upset him?"

She thought about the last visit, about the nightmare, and she looked to the girl counting the strands of flowers in her hands, lips moving ever so slightly with each number. How could she have upset the Doctor? By asking him to stay forever? She sighed, it would be two rejections in less than a week if it were the truth, because as much as she tried to convince herself John could accept their age difference and the words of the unforgiving world around them, she knew he would reject her.

Maybe she'd known it all along.

For her own good, he would say.

The Doctor would say the same, she thought with a curious frown, lost in a thought.

"Mummy," Maddie called, lifting her dark eyes to squint up at Clara, "Is someone else going to come if the Doctor doesn't?"

Looking to the picnic basket she knew held simple ham and cheese sandwiches and snack bags of blueberries and apple juice boxes – all her daughter's favorites – and the red and white checkered blanket laid out in the grass underneath it, Clara shrugged and then she wrinkled her nose and told her simply, "Nah. Just us girls tonight."

Maddie giggled, rubbing her nose with the back of one hand before admitting, "I like when it's just us girls. Like it used to be."

Making her way towards the blanket, Clara sat down carefully and listened to Maddie as she did a circle around her, singing lightly to herself again and picking out a daisy here and there to flick aside. Damaged, Clara imagined as she watched the flutter back onto the grass. "Maddie, it'd be alright if it were just us girls for the rest of our lives, right?"

"Of course it would be, mummy," the girl replied swiftly, "We'd never really be just us though – Granddad and Gran-Gran and aunt Amy and uncle Rory and..." she hesitated before ending sadly, "Other people would always be there to make sure we're not lonely."

Clara teased, "And then one day you'll get married."

"Ew," Maddie instantly whined.

They laughed together and Maddie fell onto the blanket, spreading the flowers out as Clara asked, "Are we making crowns again?"

Nodding, the little girl offered, "Yes, mummy."

Calmly, she watched her daughter work diligently at the stems, twisting and tying, tiny tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth. She smiled, content to stay there quietly observing, waiting for those dark eyes to lift up in accomplishment of her craft before pushing up, standing before her to place the crown on her head and Clara thanked her, and then pulled her into a hug, sighing when she felt her daughter's chin rest on her shoulder, little hands patting at her back reassuringly.

"I'll never let you get lonely, mummy," the girl whispered. "I promise."

"Oh, sweetie," she breathed, shifting her back to give her a smile before shaking her head, "I love you more than living."

Giggling, Maddie responded, "I love you too, mummy."

Her daughter bent slightly as she laughed a moment, and then the girl looked over the crown atop her mother's head and Clara asked, "How do I look?"

"Like a Queen," Maddie responded.

Making a face, Clara argued, "But she's old."

Maddie shrieked in amusement and then whispered, "No, mummy, not THE Queen, a Queen."

Gesturing at the flowers still piled up, Clara told her, "Then we should fashion you a crown as well, as my little princess."

Nodding vigorously, Maddie dropped to cross her legs, lifting the flowers to make a pool of them in her lap to choose from and she set herself to work again as Clara observed, listening to her detailing the twists and turns until she finished with a bright smile at the object in her hands. Clara took the finished product from her, setting it atop her head to look at her proudly showing it off. She missed her smile so much and she feared as her daughter grew, lost to that sleep, she'd forget what it looked like.

Clara feared she might not know what that smile would grow to be on her daughter's aging face and for a moment she panicked, feeling the thumps of her heartbeat before glancing around. She didn't want some strange person coming in to question her and her child. Clara didn't want Maddie to have to...

"Mummy," Maddie exclaimed, "It's ok. It's ok!" The girl stood and pressed a palm into each of Clara's cheeks and then she pressed them into her shoulders, holding her tightly as she solemnly told her, "Everything is fine, mummy, we're ok."

She worked a grin onto her lips, knowing the girl had seen Amy coax her out of a bout of anxiety here and there, and she nodded quickly, offering through quivering lips, "I am blessed you were given to me, Madeline Oswald."

The little girl smirked and then replied softly, "I am blessed you were given to me, mummy."

Maddie nodded to her, taking long breaths Clara mimicked, and after a moment, her daughter turned to drop into her lap with a sigh. Exhausted, Clara knew – surprisingly so – enough to worry Clara, and she glanced down at the child looking up at her, not quite understanding her apprehension. "Sweet pea, are you feeling alright?"

With a small smile, the girl nodded, "Better every day."

Her eyelids drooped and Clara lifted her gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then the girl faded from her grip. For a moment she remained, searching out the foggy landscape for the man who'd missed his date with them. She stood and climbed back atop the rock and waited, wondering if maybe he'd been watching at some distance, allowing them their time, and now he would come for her for _their_ time, but all she saw or heard were the breezes through trees in the distance and the occasional call of a bird.

Sitting up in bed, she set the nodules down and she rubbed at her forehead before pushing to stand and ready herself for the day. Just before she left, she picked up her mobile, ready to call him, but she realized he would be on his way home already, or already there, lost to his own dreams, tucked away in his bed. She frowned when what she imagined was John, lying on his sheets, staring up at the ceiling; mind wrapped up in too many thoughts he had to deal with on his own.

"Time to be a teacher now, Clara," she told her reflection in the rear view as she settled herself in her car, giving herself a weak smile before nodding, "No more complications," because she had to ready herself for the notion that John would let her go and he might be odd enough to ask Mr. Smith to sever ties as well. Either that, she thought as she began to drive, or something else she didn't want to quite wrap her head around – a thought too strange and too heartbreaking...

"You alright, Clara?"

It was Danny's voice and it came with a chuckle just before he sat down in the seat to her left in the staff room, and she knew she'd jumped slightly at the interruption in thought – or lack of thought, as she'd been lucky, or tired, enough to have been stuck in – turning to give him a polite smile. He eyed her and she could see the concern there, masked not very well by his shy grin and his small continued laugh, amused at her.

Lifting a hand and then letting it settle around her apple, she shrugged, "Just tired is all."

"Tired," Danny grunted, "I'll tell you a thing about tired – I think these kids have all had their sugar coated cereal doused with another pound of sugar this morning. One stood in the middle of class, screamed, and tried to run out of the room, said maths made him bonkers."

Clara laughed, "Sounds about right." She glanced up at him, "They're testing you, give 'em a few weeks, they'll settle down."

"Will they?" He questioned. Shaking his head, he admitted, "I think the war was easier."

Turning away, Clara watched her finger run over the smooth red edges of her apple as she sighed, and she listened as Danny did the same, and then she prompted, "Tell me." She looked up to see him peering at her curiously and she shrugged and stated, "You've been dancing around some thought since you returned, and I'm honestly too tired to wait or coax it out of you."

"I'd like to take you out," he told her immediately. "On a date. With food."

"Food is always good," she stated simply. Clara smiled, bowing her head and she heard his exhale of defeat before she offered, "How about you come over one night, we have some terrible take away, swap classroom horror stories over graded papers and a glass of wine."

His lips shifted quickly and he leaned back, the suit wheezing slightly as he replied, "That... would be wonderful."

Clara listened to him laugh, could see him nodding to himself out of her peripheral, and she took a long breath before lifting her apple to take a bite. Maybe that's what would be best, she thought. Nevermind the magic man in her dreams; nevermind John and his hesitation and worry. Looking to Danny, she could see his cheeks had gone slightly pink as he arranged his lunch in front of him, each movement coming with a small mechanical muted zip of a noise. They'd been almost something before, she considered, why not now?

She took another bite and scolded herself, because she thought about John again, and how he would be at home, or out running errands, or simply sleeping away his day. What would he be up to, she wondered, but she stopped herself, turning and asking swiftly, "So, quick, tell me something secret nobody else can know about your mission?" And she tried to clear her mind of that other man as Danny straightened with a chuckle and a considered stare at the ceiling before he leaned into her with a nod and began to whisper.


	31. Chapter 31

Danny had been right, Clara thought as she swung her bag onto the couch and then fell into the cushioning beside it, the kids had far too much energy. She laughed at the thought, understanding she was entirely too young to be thinking it, and then she groaned as she removed herself from the comfortable furniture and headed towards her bedroom to slip out of her blouse and slacks and into a pair of jeans and a jumper. She leisurely curled into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of red wine and as she took the first sip, she was surprised to hear the knock at her door.

"Please tell me you didn't think it was tonight," she whispered to herself, thinking about how Danny would just show up, assuming she'd meant that very same day, and she trudged back through the living room to step on tip-toe to peek out into her hallway, smiling before she pulled the door open to usher Amy inside.

"People are talking," her friend offered in a sing-song voice, laughing and twirling and falling onto the couch. Clara looked to her and to the giddy grin she wore, and she found herself smirking. "Come on," Amy patted the couch, "Sit and tell."

Stepping towards her, she pulled her work bag off and let it drop to the floor pathetically, and then she carefully sat, taking another slow sip. "Not much to tell – he was dragging his arse about it, so I offered an open invite to come over for dinner, thought you might be him actually."

Head bowing slightly, Amy asked scandalously, "And how did that make you feel?"

On a laugh, Clara grabbed a decorative pillow and swung it at the red-head, watching her raise her arms up to take it from her. "Honestly," Clara offered, "Good."

"Well, firstly, don't hit the pregnant woman with pillows." Amy pointed. "Second, it's very rude of you to drink wine around a pregnant woman," Clara took another sip, "And thirdly, how do you mean, good?"

She smirked, then shrugged. "Comfortable, I guess – we were dating before he went off on his secret mission."

"And it's been over a year since that," Amy reminded.

On a nod, she stated, "I know." Then she leaned her elbow into the couch and swirled the wine a bit as she explained, "But it's like that with him, it's why I enjoyed being with him before. I trust him, which isn't something I often think about men since," her eyes came up sadly, "Since Harry."

Amy frowned at the mention of his name, and then she questioned, "But didn't you always say you and Danny, it was like it wasn't quite clicking?"

"He's too sweet sometimes," Clara stated. "Like he's trying to make up for the fact that he was a soldier, like I wouldn't respect it," she shrugged and finished, "Or maybe he'd always been that way and the soldiering is what made him so hesitant. So it always felt like he was holding back because of that, and I was holding back because of what happened with my ex. We never quite met at the same place."

Amy reached for her wine and Clara shouted as she took a small drink and then handed it back, "Sorry, I had to, no more I swear – but really, what is it with you and men who don't make moves."

One eyebrow lifting as Clara set the wine glass down atop the coffee table, Clara groaned, "Maybe it's better that way; Harry made all the moves and look where that got me."

"Clara," Amy moaned sorrowfully as Clara leaned into the couch, looking to the other woman.

"Harry pursued me and Harry bought me drinks and asked me to dance and insisted we had to go on a date and then he decided where we went and he decided what we ate because he said he wanted to surprise me. He goaded me into moving in with him after a bit and he proposed and he was the one who made too many of the wedding arrangements. And then he was the one who found our house and he was the one who said we should have a baby and he's the one who..." she swallowed roughly and turned her head away, calming herself before looking back with a simple, "Maybe it's time I was the one who made the decisions."

"And what do you want?"

"I want to give Danny another shot?" She squeaked.

Amy tilted her head, "For the one making the decisions, you don't sound so sure," then she straightened and leaned into Clara, asking, "Wait, what happened to John and the Doctor? I thought you said three at once was a bit more than you wanted to take on."

Picking her fingers in her lap, Clara told her honestly, "I might have screwed that up a bit with this whole strong woman stance. Or maybe I fixed something because of it?"

"Howso?"

Wincing, she explained, "He was acting like Danny used to – like he was scared of me, scared of moving forward with me and I told him he had about two weeks to decide whether he wanted things to advance with me, before the holidays, you know? And he went stiff on me," she slapped Amy's knee at the smirk she pulled before continuing, "He just froze up like I'd said the wrong thing and I haven't heard from him since. And then the Doctor didn't show up the next night in the dream, probably in some show of solidarity with his man-friend, or something..."

She expected to be chewed out; she expected to watch her friend stand and press her fingertips into her temples to think about how stupid she'd been before telling her how stupid she'd been, but Amy slowly nodded and turned, sinking into the couch. "That's good, Clara," she finally told her firmly. "You don't want someone indecisive about a relationship with you and if the Doctor is gonna be on his side, to hell with him as well."

"What?"

Lips pursing, Amy sighed, "Clara, you've been hurt, and I wanted you to do this to loosen you up a bit, let you have a bit of fun because honestly, you don't let yourself have enough fun – you never did, and you deserve to be a little foolish every once in a while," Amy laughed as she looked to her. "And I knew it would bruise you a bit, but I didn't want you so invested that when it happened, you were devastated."

"You mean you wanted me open to someone like Danny, afterwards."

Shrugging, Amy replied, "Maybe, I don't know – he definitely sounds more like a long-term commitment kind of guy than either John – who has his issues – or this Doctor fellow you've never even properly met."

"I'm just not sure Danny is _the_ guy," Clara admitted, "He's a great guy, but he never felt like that man I wanted to wake up to for fifty years."

"And John did? The Doctor?" She pressed.

Clara knew what she wanted her to admit, but she merely shrugged. She didn't know what John or the Doctor could have been, but there was something about John that seemed to fit quite nicely that she couldn't properly explain. It hurt her that he hadn't called or sent a message, and it hurt to think about him then, alone at his home, prepping for his night of work. She wondered if he was thinking about her, about their few little dates and she felt terrible because why couldn't she just let it be a fling.

Probably, she knew, because it didn't feel like it should be and it scared them both.

Looking to Amy, Clara asked, "How did you know, with Rory?"

Amy smiled, and then she gave a small laugh, and then she sighed, and Clara could see she was in some memory that wet her eyes as she considered it before telling her, "Poor thing's had a crush on me since we were no bigger than Maddie, and at least once a month, he would ask quietly – in the middle of some game, or doing homework, or taking a test at school – he'd just ask me if he could be my boyfriend. And I liked him, you know, but we were kids, and then we were awkward, and then we were teenagers, and I'd just swat him away and tell him I wasn't ready for that sort of rubbish." She bowed her head, touching her fingers to the space underneath her nose a moment before looking back at Clara. "He would always say it was ok, he would _wait_."

She was lost in thought again, a smile Clara envied spreading over her lips, and then she continued, "It was like he knew there was no one else in the world for him and he was content to wait until I figured it out and one day I did. We were watching some stupid movie in his apartment, he was studying nurse-y stuff and I was throwing popcorn at him and he just looked up after a moment and smiled at me." Amy shrugged, "That was it, that stupid smile of his, and something just clicked – this was my person; this was the life I wanted; this was my home."

"You shagged him, didn't you," Clara groaned.

"Yup," Amy shot, "Right there on the couch, his anatomy book pressing into my bum the whole time."

Clara laughed and listened as Amy joined her, and then she looked to the ceiling and admitted, "I never had that moment with Harry. Always thought one day it would feel more like I thought it would. Maybe I should have taken it as a sign."

"You couldn't have known, Clara," Amy pushed her shoulder lightly. "There was no way you could have known he was absolutely insane under that calm charismatic facade – none of us knew until he was threatening you and Maddie and being... _absolutely insane_."

Nodding to herself, and then to her friend, she sighed. Clara didn't want to think about those days. The ones that came after she started wanting to plan her daughter's life and realized her plans and her husband's plans were vastly different. When she started to realize just how much she'd lost control of her own life under his hand and how desperately she wanted to get out from underneath it.

Shaking the memories away, she set the glass down on the coffee table and glanced to Amy's stomach a moment before questioning, "So how are you, with the pregnancy and all? I've been wanting to ask you, but you've been a bit... incognito lately?"

With an embarrassed grin, the other woman cupped her hands around her abdomen and told her, "Ok, I guess?" She smiled again when Clara poked her shoulder. "Not really sick the way I was with Melody, not too hungry either, not yet anyways, just occasional bursts of it. My doctor says I'm only two months along, so I don't want to tell anyone quite yet."

Watching her, Clara could see that mix of elation and sadness dancing in her eyes. She reached out and took her hand, gripping it tightly before telling her, "I am so very excited for you, Amy, and whatever you need, don't hesitate to reach out to me, please."

Amy looked to her, chin trembling, and then she launched herself at Clara, pulling her into a tight hug on that couch, responding quietly, "I could honestly go for some terrible burgers."

Laughing, Clara dropped back, wiping at her eyes, and then she stood, hands out to help her friend up before her and she nodded to the door, "Come on, there's a new really shitty place around the corner – we could walk."

Head dropping back, Amy gasped, "That sounds fabulous."

And they were terribly wonderful. Grease dripping out of their wrappers and dribbling onto the floor enough that they stopped to eat over a garbage bin, each holding their dinner a few inches away, their laughter almost ridiculous as they ate. Clara watched her friend, could see the glow to her skin already and the new shine to her hair. She listened to her detail her exhaustion and then Rory's apprehension. They were both nervous, she knew, they'd been nervous about Melody.

Clara could remember her constant questions and comparisons to her own pregnancy, being a few months further along than Amy. She smiled as Amy ate, remembering that first visit with both of their girls, lying Maddie down beside Melody, both nearly the same size in spite of that difference. Clara remembered how they'd held each other's hands as they'd watched their girls quietly study at each other.

"Do you want me to tell Maddie?" Clara asked, looking to the remnants of her burger and deciding she'd had just enough indigestion for the night before tossing it into the bin. "Next time I go in, I could let her know – I bet she'd be excited for you."

Sniffling lightly, Amy nodded, and whispered, "No, not yet anyways, but soon, yeah." Then she looked to Clara and prompted, "So, what are you gonna do about Danny?"

"I'll give him a few days to see if he invites himself over and if he doesn't, I'll invite him over Friday," she stated nervously. "We'll see how we feel, if it still feels like anything, and go from there, I suppose."

Amy wiped her hands off on a napkin, asking quietly, "And what of John?"

"Ball's in his court, really, but I'll give him a few days, then invite him over Saturday if he hasn't contacted me, and..." she trailed with a small smile as her cheeks went red, "We'll see how that goes."

Laughing lightly, Amy finally asked, "And the Doctor?"

Sighing, Clara offered, "I'll have to talk to John about that."

Shaking her head, Amy shot, "Why John?"

Clara shrugged and sighed, "This is gonna sound absolutely bonkers," she looked to Amy to finish, "But I'm starting to think they're the same guy."

For a moment, the other woman simple stared at her blankly, mind trying to process what Clara had just said, and then she closed her eyes, head tilting. Then Amy pointed and hissed, "I'm sorry, maybe it's the pregnancy brain already dumbing things down, but, could you say that one more time, _really slowly_ , so it sinks in for the both of us."

Clara took a breath and shrugged, telling her friend quietly, "I think John and the Doctor might be the same man."

Amy nodded to herself, eyes focusing on some faded dull blue piece of gum teetering on the edge of the garbage bin just beside them, and then she shrieked, " _What_?"

It was loud enough for her to recoil and for others to momentarily glance in their direction as Clara scratched nervously at the back of her head and Amy shook hers. The other woman then stared, wide-eyed, waiting for an explanation, one Clara didn't clearly have. "It's just a feeling," she offered.

Eyes closing, Amy retorted, "No, Clara, no, this isn't just a feeling – this is a serious accusation of manipulation by a guy you get googly eyes about every time you're even thinking about him." She leaned in, "This is Harry level psychosis."

"He's not Harry," Clara shot angrily. "He's just... _timid_."

"Explain," Amy spat, arms crossing.

Clara looked around at the people she had to convince herself were not looking at her, and then she waved a hand, leading her away from the sidewalk crowd and towards a set of benches just beside a small fountain where she eyed a child tossing a coin into the fountain as she considered her thoughts. "The Doctor told me once that what he looked like in the dream and what he looked like in real life – they weren't the same. He's also said some things that make me think he's quite a bit older than he's let on, and I guess I let it all slide. Fantasy, whatnot. But then, John," she trailed with a sigh.

Her friend reached out and gave her a shove, brow rising in anticipation.

"I don't know – there's just something about the way he is, something about things he's said, about how he looked at Maddie when..."

"Wait," Amy interjected, hands coming out, fingers splayed out in shock, "You took him to see her?"

"I asked him to meet me there," she admitted, "I was scared and alone and with everything that's happened, I didn't want to bother you..."

The other woman's hands were on her shoulders, stopping her and watching the way her chin trembled and her eyes watered and she stated firmly, "Clara, you will never be a bother to me. _Ever_. Let's clear that up right now. We have had our differences and our arguments, and I'm still really sorry I slapped you that one time, but I understand what happened was an accident and you would never _ever_ purposely put either of our children in danger." She bowed her head to meet Clara's eyes, "Clara, you are not alone, ok? Ever. Do you understand me?"

She merely nodded. Then admitted, "I just wanted to see her, but I didn't want to go by myself, and he just held her hand and he spoke so gently to her and he looked at her like he loved her – Harry never looked at her the way John did, and it's exactly the way the Doctor does in those dreams. These sad old eyes that see every bit of magic in my little girl that I know is there."

"And both of these men have lost daughters," Amy pointed out.

"Yes," Clara agreed, "And wives."

"And you're the type of person to look for the worst case scenario," she reminded. "Even to the point of creating almost impossible ones."

Head dropping as her fingers came together, Clara mumbled, "Yes, for protective purposes."

She could hear the other woman's sigh just before she gave her shoulders a squeeze, "Clara, I think you're trying to find the fault in the both of them so you can walk away from them because it's really freaking you out that you don't want to." Amy waited until Clara smirked up at her to laugh, "You're predictable, you know that."

"I'm not," Clara groaned before shifting out of her grip playfully. "I just wasted so much with Harry, what if I get involved with one of them, seriously, and then it ends badly, again."

Nodding, Amy argued, "Well, I doubt you'd end up in another ditch."

"Amy," she warned.

"And you got Maddie."

Staring into her friend, who was offering a sympathetic look, Clara understood perfectly well – if there was something about her life she would never change, it was that little girl. Even if they never spent another waking moment together, her daughter was the most perfect being in the world to her and she wouldn't give her up for anything. Shifting to turn, Clara began the walk back to her flat, feeling Amy beside her, a smug grin on her face knowing she'd made her point well.

"What should I do then, Amy?" She asked softly.

Amy grabbed her by the elbow to wrap her arm around it, tugging her close to her. "You do what normal women do, Clara – you date them and then decide if they're worth your love and if none of them are, we keep looking and working and remembering it doesn't really matter. Maddie and you, that's all that does, and you both have enough love in your lives without some man."

"You're right," Clara sighed.

"As I always am," Amy affirmed before they broke into giggles.


	32. Chapter 32

"Saturday. Noon. Yours."

The text message from John sat staring up at her for four hours on Thursday before she finally typed back at lunch, simply, "Ok, good, see you then," and dropped the mobile into her purse to dump into her desk drawer, turning her attention back to geometry and artwork and eventually book reports that had her wishing there were more coffee in her life. Because she couldn't think about what they'd talk about, or what they'd do, or how she'd feel if he sat her down and said he'd decided not to continue seeing her. And she tried not to think about the insane idea that him and the Doctor were the same. Amy had told her at least five times not to.

She tried not to doubt the relationship at all. Because that doubt would crush her and her students didn't need to see her cry, not ever. So she smiled and she called on names and she corrected pronunciations and she asked them questions and watched them fidget and Clara tried to alleviate their fears. She smiled and she patted their shoulders and she complimented their efforts and she even offered Trevor a high five on actually completing an assignment, knowing he'd cheer when he got his marks the next day.

And just as she'd finally listened to the bell ring and the stampede of feet launching themselves towards the door and dropped her shoulders just a little to worry, Danny knocked lightly on the frame of her doorway, smirking at her as she glanced up at him, eyebrows high. "This a bad time?" He asked slowly.

Shaking her head, she laughed lightly to herself and huffed, "No, just end of the day."

"Ah," he let his head drop back slightly, "Know that feeling," and his hands came up with a wheeze of the suit he wore, as he exclaimed excitedly, "It's over!"

Clara laughed, then collected the papers on her desk, straightening them to push into her work bag as she offered, "Sometimes I wonder who's more excited for the end of the day, us or them."

He gestured, "Well, seein' as we get to take it all home to keep working," he sneered before answering, "Probably them."

"But they have homework as well," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but come on," he laughed. "They've got the homework of one while we've got the paperwork of a whole classroom to go through – and we don't have mummy and daddy making our dinner and packing our lunch for tomorrow."

"Fair point," she nodded with a smile, lifting her bag onto her shoulder. Then she looked back at him, seeing the way he was swaying slightly, that nervous question he wasn't asking. She sort of missing that about him, like a child who needed permission to go out on the swings, but was too timid to ask. "Danny," she whispered, "Spit it out."

"Was wonderin' if we could have that dinner and homework tonight," he told her softly. "I'd offer tomorrow, but I have a therapy session I can't really cancel or move around the schedule, so..." he trailed, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

Clara began to nod slowly, and her heart thudded for a moment, before she finally said, "Yeah, sure, tonight would be good."

His head tilted, "You just agreeing to be nice, Clara?"

Laughing and scratching at her temple, she gripped her bag to her side and growled at him in mock annoyance, "Me, being nice – you've been gone too long, Mr. Pink, weren't here to watch me to rogue."

She walked past him and felt him follow, listened to the light hiss each step made, frowned at the notion that this was what his life had become – confined to a suit, or confined to a chair, before edging the thought from her mind, knowing full well it would continue returning.

He sighed, "You'd never go rogue, Clara. A bit nutters occasionally if someone messes your routine, but never completely off the deep end." He laughed then. "You're not capable."

On a giggle, she turned to look at him, asking, "You really believe that?"

His smile dropped and he nodded slowly, telling her honestly, "Yeah, I really do."

Eying him a moment, Clara smirked, because Danny didn't really know what she was capable of, and then gestured towards the car park with a nod of her head, telling him gently, "Just follow me."

"I remember the way," he allowed, cheeks staining with embarrassment as he went carefully towards his car as she went off in search of her own.

She met him at the front steps of her building, watching the way he walked, knowing he was still getting used to the suit he wore, and she could see the frustration in his face, masked only by the determination to be as normal as possible. Clara knew that fight well, except she knew it internally where Danny was forced to fight a physical battle and she'd bowed her head, gripping her keys tightly by the time he joined her, standing beside her to wait until she smiled up at him.

"Should take the stairs," he joked, "Good for the joints."

She feigned a laugh and they went to the lift, riding to her floor and then going into her apartment where they both settled their bags on the dining room table. He sat quietly, scratching at an ear with a silver plated hand and she reached for it, taking it within hers to feel the smooth metal against her skin, staring down at it while Danny studied her.

"Will you be alright with this?" He asked quietly. "This suit of armor holding me up."

Clara slid her fingers along it, nail catching delicately in each division before she bent to kiss his knuckles and then asked him, "Can you feel anything?" Because it pained her to think he couldn't.

He smiled then, admitting, "I feel just a bit of warmth, like it's numb, but waking. Like I said before, that's the hope." With a soft groan, he glanced at his knees and added with a shrug, "Of course, below the chest, it's a different story, which you can imagine is quite a blow for a bloke."

"Or not," she teased, watching his eyes come up quickly before he began to laugh.

Clara released his hand, dropping into the chair across from him to watch him shake his head, eyes closing just a moment as they laughed together, and then he uttered quietly, "I've missed you, Clara Oswald."

He met her stare as she smiled and sighed in response, "I've missed you, Danny Pink."

On a quick nod, he asked apprehensively, "We were really good, yeah?"

"Yeah, we were," she agreed.

He nodded then, beginning sadly, "I'm sorry we didn't..." and his hands came up, hovering a few inches from each other before finally clasping as he exhaled and looked to her, knowing she would understand his meaning. They were good together, but maybe just as friends, and something about acknowledging it with him in the room broke her heart, but also alleviated her mind a bit. It wasn't really him and it wasn't really her, it wasn't even the circumstances or the situations – there was a love there, but it wasn't the right fit. Never quite had been, and she understood they'd both been feeling the same, they just hadn't been in the right place to admit it.

"I'm sorry it won't work out like that, Danny," she stated honestly, watching him accept the words with a simple nod and a sad smile. "But I'm not sorry we tried; I'm glad we did." She nodded slowly, adding confidently, "I'm glad for whatever this does end up being though; I'm glad to have met you." She swallowed roughly to tell him, "I'm glad Maddie got to know you."

Danny nodded and then stated, "And one day I'll be marking her homework, Clara, and I'll be giving you a hard time for not being a better help with her maths."

She laughed, turning away to groan, "I so sorry, Danny, but I really hate maths."

He smirked with her and then pulled his bag open, peering inside before asking, "You still have bottles of wine stashed away for marking papers, right, Clara?"

Standing quickly, she giggled a light, "Oh, you know I do."

She returned to see the bright notification of a message on her mobile, a simple, "Don't worry about dessert," from John, and she forced a smile onto her face to sit across from Danny – across from a man she'd decided she was going to work at a friendship with – to mark papers and trade stories. And she worried about what Saturday would bring.

Two short days later, John stood outside of her flat door, staring up at the number emblazoned there against the wood, contemplating what he would tell her. The better part of the week had been spent struggling back and forth with whether he should merely text her an apology for not being the man she needed and then never speaking to her again, but every time he typed out that message and looked at it on his mobile, his whole body rejected the words, and he deleted them, tossing the device onto his bed or his dresser or even the table at work, watching it slide to connect softly with the old photo there.

"Rose," he'd sighed to the image at nearing one in the morning at the very beginnings of Thursday, leaning into the desk to stare at her smiling face. "What should I do?"

His wife, he knew, would have wanted him to have moved on ages ago, but he'd held on so long, he imagined it was too late for that. John had succumbed to the idea that his life would stick to its set schedule for the remainder of his days, and the idea that it would, or even could, change, was mind-boggling to him. And yet, he thought as he'd stared into her warm eyes, and those of his daughter, it had. In had pranced this beautiful woman with this strong will and this kind heart who had looked beyond the lines on his face and had decided for herself he was worth a shot.

"John," he could hear his wife lamenting, "Stop being such an arse and go to her."

Raising his hand hesitantly, he knocked lightly and waited, taking a step back and deep breath and he imagined she might be just on the other side, doing the same. He smiled at the ground when he heard the snap of the lock and he raised his eyes to meet hers as she opened the door, seeing the calm that eased onto her shoulders when she stepped back to allow him entrance. Moving into her living room, he looked around at the all too familiar space and he turned when he heard the door shut, looking her over with a swallow and a frown.

And he saw the certainty in her eyes wane just a bit as she nodded and stated, "Please tell me you didn't come all this way to break this off." Those stunning eyes, he thought as they closed for a moment and she added, "Please, John."

"Wouldn't that be the proper thing to do?" He offered, "Give you the dignity of meeting in person, rather than dismiss you with a few keys punched into a mobile?" He laughed then, just as her mouth began to open, to tell her softly, "Clara, I didn't come all this way to break it off; I came to enjoy my Saturday with you."

He exhaled, satisfied at his decision, and he felt his heart pump double when she raised her head to meet his gaze, her smile lifting brightly. She was pleased, he understood, and he took a step back, relieving his shaky legs as he fell into her couch with a laugh she echoed just before she moved closer to him, settling herself at his side to watch him silently. John wondered what she was thinking then; he wondered if she'd spent the week worrying over her words and how they might affect him.

John wondered if she regretted saying them.

"I'm glad you're here," she breathed, laying her head against the couch.

He looked to her as he folded his hands together in his lap, prompting gently, "There's a _but_ behind that statement, so go on."

She smiled sadly, "But I'm afraid you're here for the wrong reasons."

"Is that so?" He stated with a short nod, his heart racing.

Clara took a long breath and he almost winced. "I had a friend over this week, a friend who used to be more than a friend," and to his raised brow, she chuckled to herself and shook her head, "And what I've realized is sometimes relationships evolve into something different and that's not a bad thing. I've realized you can't predict the outcome of a life, or a set of lives, and where it'll take each person individually, outside of the whole." She bowed her head to pick at her fingers in her lap. "It was unfair of me to try and put you on the spot because I was afraid you'd drop out of my life without warning one day when you thought maybe I wasn't good enough for you, or one day you thought you weren't good enough for me." Clara lifted her head and told him quietly, "I'm sorry, John."

He merely sighed.

"I used to believe I was in control of my life and with my ex – with _everything_ he did – I'd lost that control for myself and my daughter and every so often I demand it back in ways that are a bit insane." She smiled. "I know that." Clara shook her head and shrugged, "So I expect you here on your own terms and if it ends, then it does and if it doesn't, then we'll talk about that as we move along." Wrinkling her nose, she asked, "Is that alright?"

John smiled, "My friend, Jack, he continually tells me not to think too much. I believe this is one of those instances where that advice should come in handy."

Clara smirked, "My friend, Amy, just tells me to shag you senseless – same idea, I suppose."

"Jack would like Amy," he stated, then lamented, "It's a shame she's married."

On a laugh, Clara shifted on the couch and leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder to question softly, "So what should we do this Saturday, we hadn't really discussed our plans."

Taking a long breath, he reached to stroke her cheek with his knuckles, his heart drumming as she raised her eyes to his to watch him curiously. There sat no hesitation in those eyes, he saw, only a wonder, and he looked over her face, trying desperately to memorize it so he could recall it at any moment, because that face both exhilarated and calmed him and when he leaned into her, he concentrated on the feel of her fingers casually finding a spot to rest against his stomach as he kissed her.

She gripped his jumper lightly as he deepened his affection and she moaned when he bent into her, guiding her back into the couch. And he inched back to laugh, looking down at her flushed cheeks and her tiny satisfied smile. Hands curled into the fabric of the cushions underneath her, he felt the muscles in his upper arms trembling and then she nodded slowly, lifting herself to peck at his lips.

"Never shown you my bedroom," she began softly, "Have I?"

John shook his head slowly, replying, "I believe Amy would demand that you do."

"Jack might as well," she breathed before slipping back as he stood and then pulled her up.

For a moment she stood before him, chest rising and falling rapidly with her breaths. Like himself, John knew, just a little bit scared, but possibly in the best of ways. He felt her fingers slip lightly into his hand, taking hold of his palm before she turned and began to lead him though the small flat towards a back bedroom where she turned, just at the entranceway to step on tip toe to kiss him. Her invitation, he knew, and he landed his hands to her hips, lifting her easily and laughing when she curled her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, giving a delightful squeal when he rushed towards her bed to drop down carefully into it.

His forehead dotting with sweat, he slowly stripped her of her clothes as she worked him out of his, a tangled mess of greedy hands and knocking knees and laughter that tickled his heart with a joy he hadn't felt in too long. He tasted her neck and listened to her call his name as his lips wandered over her collar and onto her breasts, eliciting a shaky squeak just before he shifted lower, kissing his way delicately over her flesh until he lapped at her, head light over the wetness of her body and the strangled cries she released. Far less timid in her own space than she'd been in his.

John held her thighs as he worked her into a fervor of tremors as he felt his own member stiffly pressed awkwardly into the side of her bed, and then he lifted his eyes to look at her upper body, arching towards the ceiling as her hands clenched at her sheets. She exhaled when he lifted his mouth off her and she stared lustfully at him as he crawled the length of her body, settling himself into her easily with a shared sigh as he curled an arm under each of hers, fingertips swiping the hair from her face before cradling her head within his palms.

"I am in awe of you," he admitted on a breath, hips beginning their slow pendulum into her. John watched her eyes close, brow furrowed in concentration and he caught her lips a moment, pressing himself deeply on a slow thrust until she dropped her chin to gasp.

Her knees gripped at his sides and then one foot lazily slid up over his thigh and wrapped over his buttocks, and he began to move again, long strokes into her as he rested his forehead into her shoulder, kissing at her shoulder and nipping at her earlobe. He groaned as her fingernails trailed over his sides and she pressed her palms into his chest, slowly working their way over his neck to pull his face free. To hold his cheeks so she could meet her lips to his and slip her tongue past them to work around his.

John managed a small smile as the bed began to creak on each thrust of his body, faster and deeper and he listened to her little whimpers as they became grunts of desire now exhaled against his nose. He could feel himself nearing his end just as she began to tighten around him and in a shout, he pinched his eyes shut, hearing her sing a single note of raspy pleasure as he came within her. Clara's hands were on his shoulders and her exhales fluttered over his waves of dampened hair, and his body slowed its reflexive jerks into her as she offered a throaty laugh.

"John," she called quietly before swallowing and asking on a sigh, "Would you like to stay until Sunday?"

Lifting his head heavily, watching her sleepy gaze a moment before inching up to kiss at each of her eyelids, her tiny upturned nose, and then finally her precious lips, set in a satisfied smirk, John breathed, "It would be a pleasure."

And he dropped his head into her collar to chuckle, listening to her laugh.


	33. Chapter 33

"Are you serious?" Amy hissed. "That's a helluva birthday present."

It was Monday and they were standing just beside the door to Clara's classroom, ten minutes until the first bell, students just beginning to trudge in with sleepy eyes and frowns on their small faces, angered to have been removed from their weekends. Clara blushed and lifted a hand to hide her smile a moment before she let her arm drop back down to shrug and smirk up at her friend. Amy's mouth was hanging open in a half-smile, her bright eyes were as round as Clara had ever seen them, and her cheeks were tinted red.

"Yeah," Clara whispered, "I'm still a bit sore, to be honest."

Amy slapped at her shoulder playfully, gasping, "Clara Oswald, there are children present."

But none looked towards the two women, they were too busy finding their seats and beginning to chatter with their friends about holidays and Christmas lists and family they weren't looking forward to seeing. Clara tried not to think about her own child and how they'd settle a tiny Christmas tree in her room and how she'd buy her new socks and a new doll and cry while she ate a packed meal sitting next to the girl on Christmas morning with her father.

Instead, Clara smiled and looked to the hall for her remaining students, shrugging lightly and then reminding with a sideways glance, "It was on your instructions, you know."

"But Clara," Amy gasped before leaning into her to whisper, "I mean, did he need assistance?"

She punched at Amy's arm lightly with a laugh, responding bluntly, "No!"

"That many times," Amy sighed, "Even Rory groans at me if I ask for seconds."

"Amy!" Clara laughed.

Leaning into her, she informed her, "Did you know pregnancy can make you all kinds of aroused?"

"Amy!" She repeated on a gasp, giving her a push into the hall. "Go get your kids ready."

The other woman chuckled heartily and then gestured with her chin, "But seriously, the whole weekend – what did you even do? It can't all have been," she glanced in at the children before hissing, "Sex."

Clara tilted back into the doorframe with a long sigh as she thought back to it, another wave of blush running over her skin that earned her a small snort from her friend. "We were lazy, mostly. Watched some tele, made an absolute mess of the kitchen making dinner Saturday night," she laughed, thinking on how they'd fallen into bed together that night, exhausted laughter over the blender incident, just before she'd rolled stealthily onto him to kiss him as she wove her fingers into his hair, listening to his delighted sigh. "We went to the market, walked around to the various duck ponds. Lamented the lack of ducks," she giggled. "We just enjoyed each other's company, mostly."

Pointing, Amy told her blankly, "And if I know you, you're already thinking the penny's in the air and how it'll eventually come down." She then accused gruffly, "You didn't ruin it all by asking him if he had a dual personality, did you."

"No, I'm not coming off as insane," Clara snapped. She took a long breath and frowned at the woman before her, admitting, "But there were moments, yeah, I couldn't help think it – how he'll leave in the end; how it'll be too much for me if he does, or how it'll be too much for me if he doesn't." She shrugged. "And then he'd take my hand, or tell me some story about Paris or New Zealand or Los Angeles, and how one day I should go with him, or I'd catch him just watching me, lost in some thought that seemed to make him happy."

"I think you make him happy, Clara," Amy interrupted.

She blushed at the thought.

"And not just for the sex," Amy added.

Eyes closing, Clara shook her head as she listened to her friend laugh, and a few closer students giggle before Lily shushed them and they went back to their shared knowledge of the latest toys. "I just don't know what to do about Mr. Smith," she looked back to Amy, "He's good for Maddie; he's been so good to me."

Reaching forward to take Clara's hands, Amy glanced down with an exaggerated pout and a raised brow, and she reminded, "You're not married, Clara." Wincing, she explained, "Technically, you can do whatever you'd like."

"Well," she groaned, slipping her hands back to grip them together at her waist nervously, "That feels wrong now, given that John seems willing to at least try to commit." Then she asked, "Shouldn't it feel wrong to continue with Mr. Smith as anything more than friends?"

Amy smiled then, calmly, and she whispered, "That just means you really like John." Nodding, she added, "Definitely a good thing, Clara." Trevor burst into the classroom between them, some gasped statement about not being late after missing his bus, and Clara sighed as she looked over the students and then turned to Amy, who nodded and gestured towards her class just before walking away.

Entering her own classroom, Clara announced with a point of her finger towards Celia in the first seat near the door, "Alright, something fun to start the day. One at a time – biggest Christmas wish. Celia, go."

Across town, John drummed on a familiar door with his knuckles for the fourth time before shoving his fists into his pockets, teetering nervously between the balls of his feet and the heels, and he listened to the groan that slowly made its way towards that door to open it, peering at him with bloodshot eyes and a grimace. John smiled cheerfully up at his friend before pushing into the flat to move towards his friend's kitchen, immediately starting a pot of coffee while listening to Jack close the door and then make his way back to him, each step a new sound of pain spilling from his lips.

"John," Jack barked, "You're a monster."

"I spent the weekend," he replied softly, pushing a button and stepping back to watch the machine begin to work, hearing the small intake of breath beside him, seeing the eyes that blinked and then widened. "With Clara," John affirmed, "I spent the weekend with Clara."

The other man took a step back and leaned into the fridge before gasping, "Why would you do that?"

"She wanted a sign of commitment," he explained.

"Yeah," Jack nodded, "She wanted to know you weren't just going to dump her, not that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her."

John turned, "She'd never get that impression off a single weekend."

Jack laughed, "John, you don't know women."

Face wrinkling in frustration, John shook his head and lifted a hand, "Jack, it was a weekend – at her request – it hardly seems..."

"Might as well have signed your life away," Jack interrupted with a bowing of his chin to his chest. He looked up at John, "Bet you got all domestic. Hit the market, made dinner together, cuddled in front of the television for some late night nonsense. Kissed her goodbye this morning as she went off to work..."

Turning to the coffee maker as the smell of the substance began to permeate the air, John shrugged, then responded lightly, "It was nice."

There came a simple sigh from beside him, and then John moved around him to grab two mugs out of his cupboard, settling them carefully on the counter. The other man leaned into it and John could see him nodding slowly, considering it, and then Jack asked quietly, " _Could_ you see yourself with her," before he looked up at him, meeting his eye with a look so serious it shocked John's heart to a standstill for a quick moment. "For the rest of your life," Jack finished calmly.

Pouring the coffee into the mugs, he thought about for a second before shrugging and responding, "It was a nice weekend, Jack, couldn't we just let it be that."

Taking one of the mugs to sip slowly, Jack was nodding, "Ok, John."

"That's it," he laughed, "You're not going to ask me anything promiscuous and inappropriate?"

With a slow smile, the other man gestured at his mug and closed his eyes, allowing, "Let this settle in and we'll get to the questions about the dirty deeds you won't answer." Then he questioned softly, "What are you going to do about the Doctor now?"

John didn't know the answer to that. He used to look at the Doctor as the solution to so many problems, but now he looked upon him as a sort of linchpin to an explosion he knew was inevitable. He went into their dream quietly that night, watching them for a little while as they ran about a playground, their screams of silliness warming his heart and making it ache all the same. Clara, he thought as he watched her reach to hoist her daughter into the air to spin her about, deserved so much happiness he wasn't sure he could provide.

Maddie, he sighed as she flapped her mother's hair and chatted rapidly as the woman stood, rapt in the dialogue, deserved to live these moments in the real world, not dream them up as she withered away in a hospital bed. John bowed his head, feeling his eyes redden and fill with tears that spilled over as he closed his eyes, and he was shocked at the sudden weight that fell against his knees. Shocked more at the instant familiarity of it and how quickly that little girl had wrapped herself around his heart.

Thin arms circled around his legs as Maddie's soft voice questioned quietly, "Are you ok?"

He looked down at her. At her chin resting comfortably against his right thigh, those dark eyes peering up at him, brow curved in a state of worry, and he brushed her hair gently, touching a knuckle to each of her delicate cheeks before shifting her back to squat down at her level to admit, "I'm sad."

"You miss your daughter," she surmised, her hands coming up to land atop his shoulders, fingers gripping into him tentatively. "You miss her mummy."

Shaking his head slowly, he allowed, "I miss them, yes, Maddie, but that's not why I'm sad. I'm sad because you and your mother have so much love and so much goodness in your hearts and you shouldn't be trapped in a dream to see one another."

Maddie nodded and she sighed, turning back to the woman who waited. The woman smirking down at them, not knowing what they spoke of. Maddie looked to John and whispered, "Don't be sad about that, Doctor. Be glad we can still see each other."

He laughed lightly, hands coming up to hold her waist, giving her hips a set of appreciative pats before lifting her as he stood and cradling her against his stomach, smiling at the feel of her legs, dangling on either side of him, her hands locked just behind his neck. Sighing at the small tranquil smile she was offering him, the unspoken thankfulness that he was there in that dream as well, John watched her a moment before allowing, "Do you remember our secret?"

Leaning forward, Maddie replied softly, "Yes, yes, I do."

"I'm sad because I don't think your mother will feel the same," he stated with a shrug.

Her head tilted slightly, considerately, and she asked, "Why's that?"

"Because I'm not who she thinks I am." He frowned, feeling her little fingers playing with his collar and he looked to her as she watched him, brow falling curiously as her eyes rounded his face.

Maddie took a long breath, and then she whispered, "You are exactly who she thinks you are, she just doesn't see it yet."

John stared at the child, her tiny lips settling themselves into a smirk exactly like the one her mother wore as she stepped up to them to ask, "What are you two whispering about?"

The girl turned and shrugged, "Mummy, do you think the Doctor fits on the slide?"

Clara laughed, "I don't know, sweetie, I think his big feet might get stuck on the way down."

John's gaze travelled between the two and his heart drummed heavily in his chest. He was lying to them, or – he thought to Maddie – lying to at least one of them. He wasn't sure why the thought struck him so suddenly. Maybe it was that he'd finally begun to understand how much he cared; maybe it was knowing they cared just as much about him and it was absolutely unfair to them. And maybe it was Clara, and thinking back on how comfortably she'd slept, nestled into his side those two nights.

How she'd laughed as they'd made breakfast Sunday morning and hugged him from behind and told him a story about failing miserably at trying to make her daughter chocolate chip pancakes on a morning they'd both stayed home from the responsibilities of their lives. How she'd listened to him talk on the terrible organization of the market they'd gone to, and how she'd chimed in with wishing they'd simply stop shifting things about every few months. How she'd asked him if he read the morning paper because she could fetch it for him while he made them coffee, earlier that same day.

How she'd genuinely wanted him in with her.

How she'd made him feel at home in hers.

How she'd offered him hope.

And love.

John let Maddie slide to the ground and he watched her rush off towards the swing set, pulling herself up carefully into one to begin pumping her short legs. At any moment that little girl could wake and beckon her mother to a hospital to take her away from it. She could heal from the atrophy that had no doubt weakened her limbs and she could slowly reclaim that empty spot in Clara's life and John absolutely knew now that Clara would welcome him into their family with open arms. John watched Maddie's bright smile as she pushed herself higher and higher, and he felt his chest constrict.

Madeline Oswald would introduce him to all of her dolls herself, and she would invite him for tea with Mrs. Moffat and she would sing him her songs and tell him her tales. Madeline Oswald would dictate that they watch her favorite cartoons and she would wrinkle her nose at his cooking and then giggle at his offense. Madeline Oswald would tug him into her bedroom at night and point up at her array of books and she would listen intently as he read out some fantastical story.

She would allow him to be her friend.

She would accept him as father should he offer it.

And she would love him with every bit of her tiny beautiful heart.

Clara's hands were suddenly slipping into his own, her fingers weaving themselves through his to grip his hands and he saw her glance downward before she raised her eyes to him, face flush with concern. "Doctor," she stated softly. "What's wrong?"

Because his palms were wet and cold and he felt dizzy at the sound of her voice. Because his tablet had appeared, a red signal light blinking as it buzzed. Clara called his name again and he smiled, shaking his head to try and stave off the odd heaviness of it on his shoulders, and then he felt the ground underneath him, shocking up his spine as Clara shouted. He should disconnect, he knew. He should, but he couldn't, he thought as he looked up into Clara's wide eyes, and the smaller identical set rushing to join her, both laying careful hands on his shoulders and calling to him.

"I can't do this," he whimpered.

The woman before him offered a light laugh as she assured, "Doctor, you're alright."

But he replied, "I should never have..."

Clara reached to touch his forehead, but he simply disappeared.

He took a long breath, but it got stuck in his throat and he winced against his body's refusal to regulate, struggling for a moment as he sat in his chair, fingertips gripped around the leather of the armrests. John could hear the alarm warning from just beside him, knew someone was coming to check on him, and he shook his head against the footsteps charging in through his door – the medical personal calling out his name and beginning to tap at his screen.

Someone had called for an ambulance and the thought froze him solid. If he died and he never told her, John thought as they hoisted him onto a gurney and began wheeling him out towards the lifts, if he simply left the world and her behind... the ding of the lift opening to the lobby cut his thoughts and he realized quite suddenly he had an oxygen mask on his face, an IV line hooked into his arm. He was coming in and out of consciousness, John understood, and he closed his eyes.

"No, you don't understand. I tried to tell you on the phone, I think something is wrong with Mr. Smith and I need to know if he's ok..." John heard her gasp and then he heard the quiet, "John?"

He looked to the ceiling just as the receptionist allowed, "We're transporting Mr. Smith to emergency care..." and he groaned the first syllable of Clara's name before finally letting the darkness consume him.


	34. Chapter 34

Numb.

Clara imagined if she had to surmise what she was feeling in that moment – if she had to pick one perfect word for the state she was in – that would be it. Numb. Though perhaps it wasn't that, _exactly_. She hated that she couldn't pinpoint it. There were too many emotions and too many thoughts and too many questions rattling through her body and mind to classify it as such, except that they rolled together through her, like a never-ending wave of static noise, leaving her feeling _exactly_ that.

Numb.

 _Take a long breath_ , she could hear Amy instructing.

She smiled weakly, eyes focusing out on the twinkling lights in the city before her, blanketed in darkness. Somehow she imagined she'd get used to that view. For the longest time she could see it when she closed her eyes and sometimes she had nightmares of it caving in on her, crashing in through the hospital window to envelope her and suffocate her. But now it seemed as new as it had been just over a year ago, when she'd first seen it out of a hallway window a few steps from her daughter's room.

Her ears began to register the muted sounds of traffic – the honks of horns and the rush of speeding cars in an orchestra of breaths down the freeway, the distant winds picking up to signal winter's proper arrival with an early sprinkle of flurries that danced across the sky in front of her before melting on the pavement below. She wished it could make her feel anything more than the stillness she was stuck in. Clara heard her friend's words once more in her mind, clear as when she'd said them that morning, and she let her lips part to take in air until it burned.

Behind her a monitor beeped softly, letting her know his heart was still thudding away, and she heard his sniff just before that beeping quickened slightly – the sure sign that he'd finally woken – but she didn't turn. Clara kept her eyes trained on a plane, slowly making its way somewhere far off, wishing she could afford the luxury of that escape. What would she even say when she turned to look at him?

Part of her wanted to be angry. To lash out and cut him down and slap him roughly before storming out of the building without a second thought, because she justified he deserved that for lying to her. But part of her knew that wasn't why she'd been at his side for the better part of the last two hours instead of one floor up, sitting beside her daughter. Part of her reminded her of every second of the worry that had consumed her as she'd gone back home from the Institute and dressed for work with several calls to the hospital to try and assess his condition.

She wasn't family, they explained, they couldn't divulge the information.

"He doesn't have family," she'd pleaded.

He had a single contact, one who'd been informed and was already at his side, and she tried to console herself with that fact as she got herself through the first half of the day, through a lunch spent with Amy in a teacher's lavatory explaining what had happened as her friend emptied the contents of her stomach, and then through the second half of the day during which her students had finally begun to notice something amiss and sat silently as she looked out a window.

Until Trevor lifted his hand slowly to ask, "Miss, is Maddie alright?"

Their eyes had been trained on her, some reddened and watered at the prospect that something had gone wrong, because everyone knew about her and her daughter. Clara had managed a smile and a shake of her head before offering, "A friend of mine is very sick; I'm worried about him is all."

Which was the truth.

Her worry overrode her anger, for a time.

And the boys agreed to behave while the girls suggested reading aloud. The last few hours were spent in that muted alliance as she sat in her chair and laughed at their silly voices and funny faces and dramatic gestures as they rounded the room, each taking a turn to read a few paragraphs from their English books. The muscles in her shoulders had eased their grip on her spine and she'd sunk into her seat, palms on her cheeks as she'd watched them file out at the end of the day.

For just a little while, everything seemed normal again. Before she left the school to make her way to the hospital, managing to get his room number where she found herself facing a handsome man with bloodshot eyes who stood at the entranceway, blocking her view, and giving her a sad smile. Giving her a knowing smile that twisted ever fiber in her body understanding he knew her and he knew her story because John had told him. Because this was Jack, _his friend_. Clara wanted to ask him why he hadn't stopped John from playing the game he had, but she could see the relief washing over him as he looked to her.

"I wondered if you'd show up," he'd offered lightly.

Clara had merely nodded, watching the tired smile that spread upon his lips. His eyes closed for just a moment and all she could think was, he must be exhausted. An overnight shift and waking to find his friend had been wheeled away… she knew Jack had spent the day beside his friend. And now he'd inevitably have to head off to work again, to try and stave off his own dreams in order to help others with theirs.

"Is he alright?" She'd questioned quietly, arms crossing over her chest.

Huffing a laugh, he'd responded, "He's a strong old man, but – looks aside – there's a reason we retire young in this profession." Then he'd tilted his head to ask, "What did you do?"

Hand coming up to press into her chest, Clara had gasped, "What did I do?"

And Jack's composure cracked, his head shaking as he'd whispered, "I'm sorry, that didn't come out how I meant it," before he'd taken a long breath to rephrase his question so lowly she almost hadn't heard him, "What were you doing, in the dream?"

She'd shrugged, involuntarily smiling as she told him, "We were in a park, my daughter and I, and he joined us – that's all." She'd looked up at him and croaked, "We were going to spend the day in the park, just the three of us." Then she'd questioned, "What happened?"

Listening to the bed creak behind her with John's slight movements, Clara closed her eyes to the view outside of that window, just waiting to hear what his first words would be. Maybe that's why she'd stayed after Jack had explained. Maybe that's why she couldn't categorize what she was feeling, because she needed to know what John would say to gauge how she should react to it all. She had every right to be angry – Amy had said as much as she'd dried her lips while Clara had leaned into the sink beside her.

"Son of a bitch," she'd grunted. "And you knew and I told you you were wrong. I am so sorry I did that, Clara, he tricked you..."

"No," Clara had replied, "I tricked myself."

"Don't you do that, Clara; don't let him win."

She'd managed a small laugh, "He didn't win, Amy, he's in the hospital right now. I don't know what's wrong with him, but he's probably an elevator ride away from Maddie and whatever he's thinking right now – he knows that I know. Nothing about this is a win."

"Then why blame yourself."

"Because," she'd sighed, holding tightly to the door handle, "This is a loss, one I invited in, and it hurts. And worse, it's going to hurt Maddie."

Clara took a long breath just before she turned. She squeezed her eyes shut and then leaned into the ledge along the window to keep herself steady as she looked to him, lying in the hospital bed, staring back at her. His mouth was set in a thin line of self-doubt; his eyes were wet with the beginning of tears she knew he would try his best to deny himself. And he took a small breath, letting it go slowly and offering her the smallest of nods – his request that she berate him, that she tear into him, that she shout and hit and leave.

Instead, she simply asked, "Why?"

John swallowed roughly, and he opened his mouth to speak, a simple, "I was afraid," not quite making it past his dry throat as he began to cough.

Clara didn't move. She watched him search out a cup of water and ignored the twitch in her fingers to rush and help him. She watched him swallow with effort, but she refused to budge until she got the answers she needed. Arms crossing over her chest, she listened to him cough a few more times, and then she repeated blankly with a small nod of her head, "You were afraid."

She could see in his eyes, John was terrified, and she knew it wasn't of her, but of his answer. It was an answer he already knew, probably had known all along, she considered, and the thought tinted her skin red as she watched him speak hoarsely, "I was afraid I was right."

"Right," she spat, brow dropping with her chin as she continued to level a scowl at him.

He smiled then, a tight smile that sat atop clenched teeth. John told her, "You should go."

Pushing off the edge of the window, Clara shook her head as she moved to stand just a foot away, barking roughly, "No, John, I won't go."

"Clara," he began, one hand lifting.

"No," she repeated, chest thudding. "No, I won't go until you tell me why. Why create this illusion? Why do this to yourself? Jack told me people move to desk jobs, or they retire young, go onto other fields, they get normal jobs that don't put strains on their heart like this." She shook her head and gripped her hands together tightly, "Why put either of us through this? I didn't need some handsome young face to make me feel safe; I would have been fine with _you_ checking on us. Just as you are, John! I would have been _thrilled_. I would have _trusted_ you just as much as..." She took a painful breath, looking away a moment to compose herself before shooting, "Why put my daughter through this? John, you owe me the answer to that because I'll have to explain it to her. She was afraid for you. We disconnected with her still in fear – over _you_ – and I know that fear will still be there the next time I see her. The last thing she asked was what she'd done wrong; she thought she'd _upset_ _you_ , John. And I have to be the one to tell her that no, no, you just couldn't take your own lies anymore..." her throat constricted on her and she swallowed roughly, her fingers twisted so tightly together she slipped them away from each other to avoid the pinch of skin and the pull of bone.

John bowed his head and she watched the tears drop.

"Just please," she whimpered, "Give me more than you were _afraid_ because that's not enough. That's not ever going to be enough of an explanation for what you did."

For a moment she held her breath, watching him nod his head slowly, thinking of what he could tell her, and she listened to the beeping of his heart in that moment, how much it had sped up. In spite of her anger, she felt guilty. He should be resting; he should be calm – instead he was pulsing at a rate of a hundred and twelve beats per minute and she imagined a nurse would be in soon to check on him. Clara could see his hands gripping into the pale bed sheets on either side of him and then he looked to the ceiling and sighed.

"There's no reason good enough," he began, "No apology worth your time..."

"I want _something_ ," she demanded. "I am _owed_ something."

He laughed. It was a pained chuckle that made him cough before his head tilted towards her. "I've never been a particularly handsome man, Clara, and when I started this job, so many years ago, I was afraid that _this face_ would be rejected. So much had gone wrong; I wanted something to be _right_ , which is no excuse, it's merely the grounds for this trickery." With a point of a slender finger in her direction he offered, "You don't realize how vain people can be about what others look like. We all judge based on a cursory examination upon meeting; age and skin tone, the color of our eyes or the level of curl to our hair and that's just the start. We make presumptions every day on appearances and it takes so long to break through the walls those presumptions build."

John stopped and looked back to his feet, his hands lazily falling back against his stomach.

"Clara, I never expected that it could hurt anyone, creating a persona that could be loved enough..."

"I loved _you_ ," she interrupted strongly. "I didn't think it was right to say, knowing each other for so little time, but I did – I loved both of you, not for what you looked like or what you wore or any of that nonsense... if you'd known me better you would have learned I care little for appearances and only for what you carry in your heart." She paused to swallow the lump in her throat, "I told you that, as him."

His eyes turned to her again as he reminded, "When I offered to show you who I was."

"I didn't think you were him," she hissed. "I thought you were going to tell me a truth about vanity you thought important that I didn't; I didn't think you were about to reveal your lie. You _should_ have told me."

Nodding, he allowed firmly, "I _should_ have."

"I don't understand why you didn't."

He smiled weakly up at her, "You told me not to."

Lifting a palm and letting it drop heavily against her thigh, Clara began, "John..."

"Would you have forgiven me then?" He prompted with a nod. "If I'd told you then – if I'd shown you then who I was – would you have forgiven me? Or would you have walked away?"

Clara took a breath and she considered it before shaking her head and telling him honestly, "I'm not sure what I would have done then," then she grunted, "But I certainly wouldn't have slept with you."

She expected him to smile, just a little, but instead his eyes closed and his mouth opened to release a small breath of sadness that hit her unexpectedly like a weight in the center of her chest. John shook his head and lowered his chin, and when he spoke, it was with an air of defeat as he said, "You'll never understand how truly sorry I am, Clara; there aren't words enough in any language to explain it." He looked to her and nodded sadly, his lips parting to simply tell her, "Go."

Shaking her head, she breathed, "You keep telling me to go, but I'm not finished here. I'll go when I'm good and ready..."

And he barked, "What more do you want from me?" Looking away, John took a ragged breath and argued, "I'm a terrible man; I was terrible when you met me and moreso now. I don't expect forgiveness for what's happened, Clara, because I know I've wronged both you and your daughter and I understand your confusion. Your _anger_. I would understand the wrath should you unleash it, but there's nothing more I could give you." He turned back to her, "I wanted to help you; I wanted to help Maddie. And I chose the worst way to go about doing that." He nodded shortly, "You want to lodge a complaint? My career is as good as dead now anyways. You want to file charges with authorities? I'll rot in a jail cell as penance if it could atone just a tiny bit for your pain. But there is nothing I could say..."

"Would you do it different," Clara asked softly. "Knowing what you know now?"

"Of course," he shot. "Had I known it wouldn't have made a difference which face you saw – had I known this face could be enough – of course I would have gone about this differently."

Something on the monitor began beeping loudly and John closed his eyes, raising a hand as she moved closer to him out of genuine concern. His heart rate had climbed to a hundred and thirty-nine beats per minute and Clara glanced up just as Rory entered, their eyes meeting momentarily before they both looked to John, Rory nodding once with understanding – because she knew Amy had told him.

John grimaced and he breathed quietly, "Just go."

She hesitated, and in that quick split second, he looked to her with a sad shake of his head and she turned away, snatching up her purse and moving towards Rory, who caught her by the arm. She looked to the floor as she told him quietly, "Please, take care of him," before she tugged herself free and rushed from the room.


	35. Chapter 35

There were twenty seven sets of eyes staring up at her the next morning, all curiously awaiting instruction as they fidgeted at their desks, legs swinging in some spots, pencils tapping lightly in others. None spoke as she looked out through the windows at her right from where she stood, leaned into her desk, and after a few minutes of silence, she smiled and then turned to look them over. They weren't perfect, they weren't even polite sometimes, but they were all a little bit hers. At least for that year.

"I'm sorry," she told them honestly, "You need a teacher right now, don't you."

Enid raised his hand sheepishly, dark eyes set in a worried stare, and when she nodded, he stated, "It's alright if you don't want to be a teacher today, Miss."

She expected a laugh to rumble through the room, but they all simply nodded their agreement, remaining obediently in their seats as she grinned. "Thank you." She sighed and then explained, "Someone, someone who I thought was a good friend, they hurt me."

"Did they hit you, Miss?" Lily shot angrily.

Clara shook her head, "Not that kind of hurt, Lily, the sort that hurts on the inside – remember when we talked about hurting with words and how that can hurt just as much, or even more, than hurting with hands?" The girl nodded and Clara looked over the students to watch them all give small nods, remembering the lesson from the very start of term as she told them, "They had to go to the hospital."

"Did you hit _them_ , Miss?" Seamus gasped.

She managed a small laugh, head shaking again, "No, Seamus, their heart got sick." She shrugged, not wanting to explain it further. Clara clasped her hands together as she told them, "And now I'm a bit torn because I feel angry, but I also want them to get better."

Trevor exhaled roughly, "I know the feeling. 'S like when my dad tells me I'm useless, then complains his back hurts from work – sometimes I want that pain to get worse so he knows how I feel, but that's wrong, isn't it, Miss. 'Cause he's my dad."

Pushing off the desk, Clara raised a hand and beckoned him quietly towards her, watching him look to the side before she called, "Trevor, come here."

The boy stood slowly out of his desk and walked towards her nervously and she could see it in his eyes – he thought he was in some sort of trouble. Always did, and now she knew, just a little bit, why – why he acted out and why he shrugged it off when she scolded him. How could her scoldings compare to the judgment of his father. She stepped into him and cupped her palms to his cheeks, raising his face to meet her eyes as she told him sternly, "You are loud, sometimes boisterously so, but you're strong and you're funny and you're brave, and one thing you are never going to be is useless. And you have such a big heart. If it's alright to say so, I love you dearly."

His cheeks went warm in her hands as he replied quietly, "If it's alright to say so, Miss, I love you dearly as well."

She laughed, feeling her eyes well up as she pulled him into a hug after a small nod. Clara looked to her students and she offered, "Every single one of you is so very loved." She watched them smile, a few tearfully as she raised one hand and breathed, "How about one big hug, I could certainly use one. Everyone, come on."

Chairs skidded as they leapt from their desks and rushed to crowd around her and Trevor, and she laughed as she listened to their laughter and their quiet whispers of praise for their classmates. Because Clara had taught them to find the good in each other and to never forget to say it aloud. She cried because Maddie should be surrounded by classmates, offering her love and acceptance.

And a few minutes later, she wiped at her face and she smiled down at them, and raised both her arms to state, "Alright, back to your seats, let's get to work."

A few hours later she was on the Williams' couch, a mess of sobs, a tissue held tightly in her hand, Amy sitting beside her rubbing at her back and encouraging her with a strong, "This'll be good for your sinuses."

The words made her laugh, and she straightened to blow her nose, falling back into the cushions behind her as she shrugged several times, not quite knowing what to tell her friend. One hand flapped up as she exclaimed weakly, "I don't know why it hit me so hard today – I was almost fine yesterday."

She could see Amy considering it just before the other woman winced and told her quietly, "Because you talked to him," before adding hesitantly, "Because you haven't talked to Maddie."

Clara nodded slowly and she reached out a hand for the cup of water Amy had brought her, bringing it to her lips to take a gulp before gasping and hissing, "Stop bringing me Vodka!"

"You need Vodka!" Amy shouted in response. "Someone in this house should drink it," she added on a groan, putting a hand out to tip the glass towards Clara's lips, nodding her approval when she took another small sip. "Clara, you're upset because somewhere in that broken, but beautiful, heart of yours, you forgive him, and you hate yourself for it."

"I shouldn't forgive him, he lied to me," she argued.

"You lied to him," Amy countered.

Clara frowned, responding curtly, "I haven't lied."

On a shrug, Amy corrected, "Well, you lead him on, I mean, tell me you wouldn't have dropped him like a frog if you'd seen this Doctor fellow in the real world."

Biting her lip, not knowing if that were true or not, Clara looked to Amy, who was staring down at her stomach, hands smoothing the fabric of her blouse over it, searching for the bump that had yet to appear. She smiled then, telling her gently, "You know it's too early for that."

Nodding, Amy answered, "Don't try to detract from your problems, Clara. We're gonna talk about this whether you like it or not." Her friend looked to her and sighed, "You know what he did was wrong, and you know what I believe about men and mistakes."

"They'll apologize and then make them again," Clara stated while nodding. Because Amy had been firm on the matter before, during a time Clara thought she might forgive her ex-husband's indiscretions and abuse; when she'd tried to explain them away with a bad childhood and a confused adolescence.

"That's right," Amy said with a point of her finger.

"Because Rory never made a mistake?" Clara shot.

Lips pursing, Amy allowed, "Oh, he's made mistakes, but there are a few unforgiveable ones he knows well he shouldn't make, and lying is right there under cheating and taking my mozzarella sticks when we're out at dinner."

She wanted to smile, but her heart hurt. She took another sip of Vodka and then set the cup down on the coffee table, dropping back before leaning into the woman beside her, nestling her temple into her shoulder and sighing as Amy's cheek rested against the top of her head. It was odd, the feelings that plagued her. She wanted to hate him, but she didn't. She could almost understand, but she didn't. She wanted to feel more than bruised and sad, like some dumb puppy who just got popped with paper roll for digging up a plant she wanted, even though she knew she shouldn't have.

"Clara, it's gonna be fine," Amy assured her.

"What do I tell Maddie?" She asked. "She's gonna ask about the Doctor when I go into that dream world and I don't know how to explain this without hurting her." Clara swallowed roughly, incapable of keeping her voice from breaking as she continued, "He was supposed to help her build trust and instead he's going to ruin that. And he _knew_ that he would..."

"Oh, sweetie," Amy growled, lifting her arm gently to pull Clara into a tight hug, "You're going to tell her the truth, as gently as possible, and then remind her that people do stupid things. Sometimes they even do stupid things for the right reasons, and that there's still good in the world worth coming back to."

Her lip trembled and she bit it, but she knew it was too late. Clara dissolved into a mess of sobs against Amy's chest and she gripped her tightly as she thought about her little girl, lying just a floor removed from John. The Doctor, she thought sadly as she sniffled and hiccupped, who had promised her the world, could potentially destroy it for her. Clara inhaled a ragged breath as Amy rubbed her back, and then she explained, "I let myself trust him, I let myself trust both of them..."

"And you thought that'd never happen again, remember?" Amy kissed the top of her head and told her calmly, more calmly than Clara had ever heard Amy speak, "You'll get there again one day, Clara, I promise you."

She nodded, and then offered lightly, "You've got the good boobs thing happening already."

Amy laughed with her and declared, "Thank you, baby!" Then she gave Clara's shoulder a good grip and sighed, "I wonder what Rory's doing right now."

Clara smiled, "Probably changing a bedpan and wondering the same about us."

In truth, he was staring at an IV bag of saline held firmly within his grip, and making his way towards a bedroom in which still laid one John Smith. Rory tried not to curl his lip as he approached the open door, stepping inside silently to see the man sleeping there, tempted to kick the underbelly of the bed to jolt him awake. Shouldn't he be used to being awake all night, he considered, logging into a computer and scanning the bracelet that hung on John's wrist; shouldn't the guilt of his actions keep him awake? He typed, listening to the beeps until he rounded the bed to flick a switch and shut it off, moving back to change out the IV and type in vitals and updates.

"You turned it off," John muttered. "It was helping me sleep."

"I don't care," Rory shot.

Eyes opening, John looked to the man beside him, "You're her friend, aren't you – Rory, is it? Your wife's the one expecting, isn't..."

"Look," Rory spat, interrupting him, "I'm here on loan for a few shifts this week from emergency, just changing your bags and then I've got others to attend to."

"No small talk then," John understood before asking, "Is it because you're busy, or because of who I am?"

Rory leveled a frustrated stare and stated blankly, "Bit busy."

Nodding, John sighed, "Because of who I am."

"You think you're clever, don't you." Rory typed roughly and knuckled a few options on the touch screen monitor before looking to John, sizing him up. He'd left the room the night before, asked another nurse to fill in. Professionalism be damned, he had to catch Clara, make sure she was alright, and work on other patients that didn't make him want to punch them in several spots that wouldn't be pretty. Rory gripped his sides and asked, "Do you even understand what you've done?"

"I've betrayed her trust," John supplied readily, eyes rising to meet Rory's before he added, "Which is unforgiveable." He looked away and said, "I've betrayed the trust of a child..."

Rory tossed the empty bag into a hazardous waste bin and twisted back to watch John as that other man's hands gripped together in a mess in his lap. "Did you think it through, when it started? Plan it out? Was it fun to watch as it played out in her mind and then in your home? Is that what it was to you – a game?"

"No," John shouted, steely eyes lifting to meet Rory's. "It was an accident; it was a mistake."

Eyes closing a moment, Rory gasped, "How could you do this on accident?" He clapped the back of his right hand into the palm of his left, "You knew it was her – she wasn't hiding behind some facade like you were! Don't tell me this was an accident because that's complete rubbish and we both know it!"

"I didn't want to hurt her!" He shouted. He shook his head and watched Rory's eyes widen slightly as his body straightened, and John continued before the other man could interrupt, "I thought it would be safer for her if the fantasy stayed inside of her head and the reality remained in the real world – that wasn't the accident, that was the mistake."

"Then what was the accident?"

"Falling in love with her." John offered a weak huff of a chuckle before telling him honestly, "I thought she could never love me in return."

Rory did a half turn, laughing at the darkened room before pointing and offering a frustrated, "Yeah, well, maybe you should have gotten to know her first, you'd have understood that woman has more love in her heart than..." he trailed, hand coming up and then dropping away. "She doesn't deserve this."

Head toggling, John agreed, "No, she doesn't – and I'll leave her be."

"No," Rory groaned angrily, "No, you won't leave her be, don't you understand." He took a step towards John and grunted, "She loves you and you've broken her, you don't get to just walk away from that as though you'd done nothing wrong."

John shrugged, arguing, "What should I do then?"

On a nod, Rory suggested angrily, "You get thrown out when she's sick of seeing you on your knees in apology. You get punched in your smug stupid face and you apologize again for hurting her fist. You find some way to explain this to her where she doesn't spend months blaming herself because she will. She'll question the DeepDream Institute and she'll remove herself from her daughter and then she'll blame herself for losing that because she couldn't be smarter; because she couldn't protect herself, or, more importantly her child." He paused to take a harsh breath, "She couldn't protect _her daughter_ from you, John. Do you have any idea what she's been through these past few years?"

"Yes," John shot, "Yes, I do."

Bending forward, Rory bellowed, "Then why in the hell did you do this?"

"Because I thought I could help!" John shouted back.

"Well," Rory growled, "Job well done, mate. Superb!"

"Oh, bugger off!" John snapped. "She knew damned well what she was doing. I've wronged her, I'm fully aware of that, and I've wronged her daughter, but don't pretend that her past pain excuses her actions."

Taking another step closer, Rory gasped, "How dare you claim she had fault in this. She did nothing wrong except trust you, and the only reason she did was because you lead her to believe you could be trusted." He shook his head, "We thought maybe this would be good for her; Amy thought it would be fun, because Clara deserved to have a little fun, but we would never have encouraged that if we had even the slightest idea of what you were doing."

John bowed his head, taking a long breath and he reached to his left, pressing the button that let him listen to the gentle beeps of his heartbeat, quickened slightly in that moment, but steady. He gestured and he offered, "There's only hindsight now, isn't there." He smiled. "I wish it had gone different, Rory, I truly do."

Kicking the base of the bed lightly, Rory pushed his hands into his pockets and questioned quietly, "What would you have done differently?"

"Perhaps I might never have stepped in at all." He shrugged. "I've been doing this for almost thirty years; the face – the persona I'd created within those dreams – had helped so many people, and I knew my time there was coming to an end." John looked to the ceiling and then smiled to Rory, "Almost a year in those dreams, so many disconnects and erratic vitals in her file and _no one_ had ever thought to step inside and say hello. A friendly face here and there to let her know she wasn't alone." John frowned. "Everyone keeps their distance; everyone does the minimal work to get by and Clara and her daughter were victims of that." He shook his head, "Her file came across my desktop by chance and I couldn't simply stand by while she wallowed in that sadness and I thought," he laughed, "I thought foolishly that I could help her."

"And you didn't think anything of it to simply continue what you'd been doing, with the face thing," Rory stated, one hand coming up to do a circle around his own face.

John smiled, "It had allowed me to help so many times before, why not for her? Why not for Maddie? If I had known what it was going to turn into, I would have shown her, but at some point it became too late, and I should have," he twisted his hands into fists in his lap, "I should have shown her, but I became afraid."

"That she would reject you," Rory supplied

Eyes widening, John replied, "It stopped being about my rejection long ago. I became afraid everything I had worked to help her with – trusting others, letting her walls down, laughing and allowing herself to be free of all of those restraints she'd built for herself – that it would all fall away."

"And now that's happened."

Nodding, John sighed, "I hope, for her sake, she can heal from this."

"And what of you?"

Smiling up at him, John tilted his head and offered, "I don't deserve to heal, do I Rory – said so yourself," he pointed up at the door, "She should come in here and sock me on my crooked long snout for what I've done."

Rory bowed his head, shoulders tensing as his body bent slightly, and then he lifted his eyes to look John over as he asked plainly, "What did you think would happen, John? Honestly, just tell me that much."

"The Doctor would fade away," he replied with a smile and a little wave of his fingers through the air. He let that hand fall heavily into his lap as he explained, "I was going to remove him from the equation, I just worried about the consequences with Maddie."

"So you kept up the facade for her," Rory understood. He stood, knuckles white atop his grip on the bed rail as he watched John nod. "You were willing to sacrifice everything with Clara to help Maddie."

He shrugged, "My fear is she's in that coma of her own will; too terrified to return to this world for fear she'll lose control – too much like her mother for her own good." John turned away. "Clara told me once they say she has only has a five percent chance of recovery, but I think they're wrong. Doctor assume they know too much. And I thought if I could alleviate those fears, just a little bit, she could prove them wrong and lift her odds enough." He huffed an angry breath to finish, "Just _enough_ for her to come home."

"You're an arse," Rory spat, but he smiled at John when the man glanced at him, shaking his head and making his way around to the computer again. "And now you're an arse with a hypertension condition."

John watched him punch a few more buttons before the screen changed and he told the man quietly, "I don't want her to forgive me, Rory; I just want her to move forward with her life because you're right, she doesn't deserve any of this." He smiled sadly. "She deserves someone better."


	36. Chapter 36

The ocean was angry. Churning with froth and crashing into the shoreline; punching away at the sand and leaving only a landscape of coarse rocks jutting out like a ragged corpse, darkened fingers raised in defense. Clara stood defiantly in the winds in a blue sundress, her hair flapping out behind her – occasionally slapping at her skin painfully – staring out at the clouds that swirled in the grey skies. And even the small warm hand that slipped into hers gently, even the solid little body that leaned into hers and nestled into her skin, did nothing to alleviate the cold gripping at her heart.

"What happened, mummy?" Maddie shouted against the roaring onslaught of another set of waves.

Taking a long breath, Clara lowered her chin and then slowly turned to look at the large dark eyes now searching hers and she shook her head. She'd had two days now to think about what she should tell her, and some part of her wished she'd had more time to deal with that confusion and betrayal herself, but she didn't know how much her child remembered when she wasn't connected to the dream. Clara didn't know if she felt the passage of time the way she did and with how connected she seemed to be to the dream world, she feared that she did.

Clara cocked her head and tried to smile, and then lead her daughter away from the beach that used to bring them so much peace. She tried to remember the first time they'd arrived there in a dream. How her daughter had asked how they'd gotten there; how she'd asked where everyone else had gone off to; how she'd slowly warmed to the notion that it was a magical place Clara had found for them. They'd warned her about the questions, because mostly the human mind accepted the dream state, but sometimes it rejected it enough that the visits were impossible.

Her fear in that moment could compare to that first day, hoping her daughter wouldn't fade away from her for good over the inconsistencies her mind registered. Now, she knew, she'd simply been adapting to a program as programmer, rather than participant. Looking out at the sky that cracked with silent lightning, Clara took a long breath of salty frigid air and then she looked back at Maddie.

"Let's walk," she offered lightly, bare feet digging into the sand as they moved together.

Her daughter went quietly with her, both of her hands holding tightly to Clara's, body never more than a few inches from hers, and she could feel the slight trembling. She didn't know if it was from the weather or from her apprehension, but she continued to move forward towards the wooden walkways that lead from the beach to the grassy field that sat in a valley cut between two smooth hills. The flowers that usually dotted the landscape were wilted and browned, and Maddie reached to touch one before raising her eyes to look at her mother.

"Why are you sad?" The girl questioned, voice calmer now that the rush of the ocean was just out of earshot, but still hissing statically in the background.

Clara turned to her fully and she sat carefully in the grass, watching her daughter do the same in front of her before she offered, "Mummy is hurt."

"Oh no," Maddie called, inching up on her knees before Clara stopped her with a smile.

"It's alright, sweet pea, it's not like a cut or a scratch. It's just on the inside," she told her, feeling the little fingers that curled around her arms, "But it'll be ok."

Shaking her head, Maddie argued, "It's not ok, mummy, the skies are mad."

Clara watched her eyes lift to take in the swirling clouds above them. Laughing, she assured, "That's just the dream."

"No," Maddie moped, "No, that's _you_ mummy – you make the skies here, and they're not right."

For a moment she wanted to laugh again, and then she understood. Maybe she couldn't conjure a kite or a meal or a bird's call from memory, but somehow Clara's emotions were affecting the weather. She shook her head and rubbed at Maddie's shoulders, telling her quietly, "I'm sorry, baby."

The girl inched forward, climbing into her lap to pull Clara's arms around her. Resting her head against Clara's bicep, Maddie gripped at it, asking, "Why are you hurting, mummy?"

She looked out over the field and the way the wind played with the long blades of grass, flattening and curling them and splitting them to the sides. Tell her the truth, she reminded herself, because the consequences of the alternative were why they were there in a darkened field, huddled together against her sadness. Clara hunched slightly to hug Maddie tightly and she waited until the little girl looked to her to try and answer her questions – because Clara knew they would come.

"Sometimes good people do stupid things, Maddie, and they don't mean to hurt others, but they do," she began softly. "A friend of mine hurt me because he lied to me and it's hard to know that, because I had trusted him so much; I wanted to trust him so much..." she trailed.

Maddie was nodding slowly, offering, "We shouldn't lie to people, you taught me that, mummy."

She smiled, "Yes, I did." Then she frowned, feeling a world of guilt as she added, "That's the really terrible part though, I didn't exactly lie, but I didn't tell him the whole truth either – which is as bad as a lie."

The girl gave a small gasp, then questioned, "Why did you do that?"

Shrugging, Clara looked to her expectant eyes, and she told her honestly, "Mummy makes mistakes too, that's something I hate to teach you, but I'm going to make mistakes every once in a while and I made a pretty big one, and I'm so very sorry."

Shifting to hug her, Maddie grunted, "It's ok, mummy, I forgive you."

She nodded, lifting a free hand to wipe at her own tears before shaking her head and pulling Maddie up, settling her on up her thigh. "Maddie, I have to tell you something because these lies, they were told to you as well, and this isn't going to be easy, but you should know."

The girl's head bobbed and she remained silent.

"You know the Doctor?"

Maddie giggled and sputtered, "The raggedy man."

Clara smiled tightly, and then she said, "He's a very real man in the very real world."

"I know," she stated, "He comes here to help people."

"Yes, sweet pea, he tries," she brushed her hair back over her shoulders and sniffled hard, "But in the real world, he doesn't look like he does here, and in the real world I knew him as John." She took a long breath. "The problem is that John didn't tell me he was the Doctor and that's a pretty big lie because I thought they were two people, and I really liked them both."

Maddie chewed the inside of her cheek a moment, and then asked meekly, "Mummy, is it lying if you know something, but you thought someone else knew it, but you didn't say it?" Her fingers twisted as she added for emphasis, "Because you thought they knew it?"

Blinking roughly, Clara muttered, "What?"

The girl's fingers twisted further, "I thought it was a game."

"Maddie," Clara breathed, "What?"

"He puts on the silly face and calls himself the Doctor." She wrinkled her nose, "But really, he's just a sad man who's afraid we won't want his help if we saw him without his silly mask."

Her heart thudded heavily in her chest and Clara feared another representative would pop in to check on her as she stared at her child, looking quite ill as she sat tensely in her lap. Her daughter had known all along, she understood, looking to the way Maddie uncurled her fingers and then gripped them into her little purple dress; her daughter had always seen him for who he was and she'd read through his act so thoroughly she might have been impressed if she hadn't been in shock.

"I thought you knew," she whimpered, bottom lip trembling slightly, scared she was in trouble.

Clara pulled her into a hug, feeling her sniffle against her shoulder as she assured her, "Maddie, I'm not mad at you – you didn't lie. You didn't lie," she repeated before closing her eyes and smiling, "You were just using your beautiful heart, like you always do."

"He just wanted to help us, and he made us happy," she pulled back and Clara wiped the tears from her cheeks as she nodded, "Mummy, I think we made him happy too." Then those eyes widened as she asked, "Is he ok? He fell down and he disappeared..."

She palmed her cheeks and shook her head, "He's in the hospital, baby, not too far from you."

The girl's eyes slowly closed as she released a long sigh and then they blinked open and she asked curiously, "Was it his heart? He told me a secret about his heart."

Clara smiled and nodded, "What did he tell you?"

"He told me he loved us so much it might burst," she frowned, "Did we burst his heart?"

Shaking her head, she looked Maddie over before Clara told her quietly, "He was afraid, I think he was afraid we couldn't love him the way he loved us, and sometimes when people get very afraid, their hearts have to work too hard and it becomes too much..."

"Tell him to sleep," Maddie offered sharply.

With a smile, Clara said softly, "Maddie, you can't sleep away fear."

The girl merely stared, then her eyes shifted away and looked around, "It's safer here."

"Maddie," Clara stated simply, waiting for her daughter to look back to her, thinking maybe she understood what her daughter was saying, terrified of what it meant. She swallowed roughly and asked quietly, "Are you stuck here because you're afraid to leave this place?"

Glancing up at her with wet eyes, Maddie only nodded.

Chin trembling, Clara prompted, "You sleep to stay safe because you're scared of the real world."

"I got myself stuck so far in the dark, hiding from the monster," she whispered.

"Your father," Clara corrected.

Maddie's eyes closed and she took a long breath, "Mummy, is he really gone?" Then she opened her eyes and stated, "I saw him go through the window." The winds around them died instantly and the grass stood deadly still as Maddie explained, "You hit your head and you were asleep. The car was in the water," he eyes pinched shut and she breathed, "Melody was gone, just bubbles that stopped."

"Madeline," Clara warned, "Don't live it again, please." Because it was her worst nightmare, that her child could be trapped in that moment for the rest of her life, stuck in that coma. They tried to tell her it wouldn't happen and she'd alleviated her fears only so much through the DeepDream Institute's program, but she still worried about the time she wasn't with her daughter. "Maddie, please," she pleaded, head tilting forward to touch to her daughter's.

The girl took several long breaths before saying quietly, "His car went in after us and he went through the window and I saw him. I saw him mummy, he spit out the mud and he said my name and fell down. I got so scared I swallowed the water and tried to hide in it, but I fell in the dark and I kept going."

Clara let out a sob. "Maddie, he was hurt so bad that he died and he cannot get you. Not here, not anywhere, especially not with me – he cannot get you if you wake up. He can't."

"Mummy?" Maddie asked quietly. "Is John going to be alright?"

She laughed, nodding against her daughter's forehead before willing herself to back away to look at the worry in her daughter's eyes. Nodding and brushing down the hair on either side of her round little face, Clara told her plainly, "Yes, John is going to be fine."

"Then I think I should tell him I'm not mad at him," she stated. "Maybe if I do, that would help his heart get better."

Clara nodded and ignored her own tears, telling the girl, "Yes, I think that would help him so much."

"Mummy," Maddie breathed, eyes widening just a touch.

"Yes, baby," Clara responded lightly.

"I'm not scared anymore."

Clara's eyes opened to the stillness of night and she listened as the phone rang shrilly beside her. For a moment she didn't understand what had happened. The dream had merely ended, giving way to the muted reality and her over-warm bed. Arm reaching out, she plucked the phone off the receiver and brought it slowly to her ear, swallowing and croaking out a simple, "Hello?"

"Clara," Rory gasped, voice thick with tears, taking in a ragged breath to say, "Maddie's awake."

Her body moved within a world of ice, swimming out of her sheets as the phone clattered to the ground, and pulling herself into her clothes before making her way to her father's flat to fetch him because she knew she'd be unable to drive, much less offer her vehicle commands to move. They drove through the darkness, patiently obeying traffic lights and speed limits in a sort of daze.

Maddie's awake.

Clara's hands wrung together in her lap and her eyes remained wide, staring out at the twinkling stars above them and the darkened buildings that sat underneath, growing taller as they got closer. She held her badge tightly as they walked through hallways that had become so familiar to her she could navigate them blind, and it registered a few steps outside of the coma ward that she couldn't feel her legs. Clara lifted her badge, watching it tremble within her pale shaky hand, and the door hissed as it released, allowing her entrance where she could see nurses standing about, hands clapped over tearful smiles as they parted to let her and her father through.

"Rory," Clara breathed, voice choked in her throat, seeing him emerge from the room.

He nodded and took her shoulders, steadying her. "She's not entirely all back yet, Clara. That's not how it works, I want you prepared," she nodded with him. "It'll all come back to her slowly, right now we're keeping the feeding tube in, giving her little bits of water to wet her throat, but she can't speak, can't follow commands, isn't entirely responding to voices." Rory squeezed her shoulders and ducked his head as she'd lowered hers, "Clara, it's normal, ok? Don't be afraid. We'll get her back the way she was soon."

She lifted her eyes to meet his and she managed a quiet, "Can I see her?"

He laughed, "Yes, Clara, of course you can see her."

Shifting aside, he lead her forward, offering her father a comforting pat on the man's shoulder before letting that hand fall back to Clara's as they moved towards the doorway. Clara closed her eyes and stopped, hand rising to grip the door as her head spun. She thought about every single time she'd ever entered the room to see her daughter sleeping; every time she'd entered to hope she'd wake; every time she'd entered to have that hope squashed. Taking a deep breath, she tried to register the weight of her legs underneath her to will them forward.

Maddie's awake.

Maddie's _awake_.

 _Maddie's awake_.

Her right foot lifted and dropped lightly and then her left, and she rounded the corner and opened her eyes to find a set of nurses standing inside, checking vitals and typing at a computer and she looked to the girl who laid between them, her eyes giving a long blink at the ceiling before she took a deep breath and parted her lips to release it. Knees weak, Clara relied on Rory at her left and her father at her right, as they ushered her towards that bed where she began to cry quietly.

"Good morning, Maddie," she managed.

The thick brows that sat over her daughter's eyes lowered slightly, and then the corners of her lips lifted into the smallest of smiles. For a moment she stared up at the ceiling, and then her eyes turned to look at her and her mouth moved without words. Her own greeting of sorts, one Clara accepted because it was the most beautiful hello her daughter would ever give her. Hands reaching, Clara moved towards the bed and she carefully climbed into it, hearing the nurses heavy tears as she curled an arm underneath Maddie's neck and cradled her while pressing her face into her cheek.

Clara's quiet crying became ragged sobs as she felt the movements against her stomach, the little fingers that slowly swayed, weakened after so much time asleep. She kissed at her daughter's cheek and temple and she found that tiny hand, bringing it up to her lips several times before letting it rest into her palm, smiling down at it as Maddie tried to hold her. She breathed in her child, confident now she could one day rid her of the chemical smell of the hospital. Confident she would take her home and lay her in her bed and read her a story and watch her laugh. Confident she would bathe her in a tub of toys and listen to her beautiful voice and hold her tightly a thousand times each day.

She smiled and swallowed her tears, whispering as her father's hands rubbed at the girl's feet while he silently cried at the edge of the bed, "Everything is going to be different for a while, Maddie, you're almost like a baby again and there are some things you're going to have to relearn and maybe there'll be some things you never learn again, but that's ok because you're awake now and you're with mummy and I promise you, my sweet clever brave little girl," she bit back her tears, kissing her daughter and then watching her blink and shift her eyes to look at her, "I promise you I am right here and I will never let anyone hurt you again."

Clara laid her hand gently atop her stomach and she nestled herself in at her daughter's side, hugging her gently and listening as the nurses went back to their duties. She held her daughter's hand, thumb rubbing gently over her wrist, and she closed her eyes, listening to the deeper breaths the girl was taking, laughing when she felt the girl's head shift to rest against her neck and looking to her father as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"Dad, she's awake," Clara breathed, still in a state of utter disbelief.

Dave huffed a breath and nodded, assuring her gently, "Yeah, Clara, she is."


	37. Chapter 37

Room 3006.

Clara touched the number printed on a plaque that sat on the wall just outside of the door and she smiled as she re-entered holding a styrofoam cup filled with terrible coffee and a bag in which sat a sad apple pastry she'd gotten herself for breakfast in the hospital cafeteria. Maddie had spent a few more hours in the coma ward, to make sure her progress continued, and then they'd scheduled the transfer into a regular bed in the pediatric ward and Clara had told her cheerfully, "You're moving up and out, sweet pea."

The response had been a little wiggle of her big toes and the tiniest of smiles, and Clara had accepted it. Because a doctor had come to tell her what Rory had already explained – coming out of a coma wasn't like waking from a dream. The fact that she was so young; that Clara had been diligent about her therapy to limit the atrophy of her body; that all of her scans cleared her from any permanent trauma... Maddie's odds were finally improving. But Clara didn't think on that, or at least she tried not to. She stepped into the room and watched her daughter's eyes shift as the cartoons on the television played lightly and she watched her right hand give a small bounce.

Slowly, they explained, it would all come back slowly.

Patience, they'd warned; Clara and Maddie would have to hold onto it.

Clara had smiled and she'd brushed the hair on her daughter's forehead, watching those dark eyes flutter shut for just a second, mind reveling in the ability to properly process that gentle caress as her skin broke out in gooseflesh. Clara had sighed calmly because after that brief second those big beautiful eyes had opened back up to look at her calmly, a smile settled in them... an acknowledgement that she would have all the patience to move as slowly as possible to get back to her normal life with her mother. To a world where Mrs. Moffat awaited tea and her Grandad would give her piggy pack rides in the park and her Gran-Gran would pinch her cheeks and her schooling could begin again in a classroom a few doors down from Clara's.

The way it should have been all along.

Now Clara moved to sit in the seat beside her daughter, her heart thudding as she watched the little girl propped up with pillows and blankets, a stuffed bear held weakly under her right hand. Try to hold onto it, they'd told her; try petting it and picking it up. Teach your hand to receive the commands from your brain. The look she'd offered that nurse then had made Clara laugh because she recognized it, even without the full articulation of it. One brow dropping slightly, lip curling just a hair, chin dipping, as though they were being ridiculous.

Clara had jumped to kiss her face, so glad to see those muscles beginning to move and so hopeful her voice would return soon. She couldn't wait to hear her daughter ask a million questions or sing random songs around the house. They told her it would be weak for a time; they told her she would be hoarse for a while. Maddie swallowed and slowly her head turned against the pillow it sat upon, and she offered Clara a smirk. Her left hand lifted awkwardly and then fell against the bed and Clara reached for it, picking it up within her own hands to kiss and press into her cheek.

"Today they're gonna work on the tube there," she pointed to the spot just under her chest, "That's what's been feeding you all of this time." Maddie's nose wrinkled slightly and Clara offered, "I know, but hopefully we can get you eating real food later, would you like that?"

Her head shifted in the subtlest of nods.

"We're gonna get you out of here as quickly as we can," she told her quietly, "But we're also going to make sure you're all better before we do."

Maddie's right hand lifted quickly, slapping herself lightly on the neck and she opened her mouth, but closed it, swallowing and wincing and Clara stood to get her water. She took a small sip and whispered, "Doctor."

"I can get you a doctor," Clara stated, her pulse quickening.

And then Maddie hissed, "John."

Falling into the chair, Clara closed her eyes and took a long breath, trying to calm her nerves as she realized her daughter was asking how he'd been doing and she felt guilty because she hadn't checked. To be fair, she told herself, she should still be mad at him, and he wasn't exactly on death's door. She shrugged and lifted her eyes to Maddie's as the girl rested her head back and waited.

"I'll find out later for you, ok?" She finally told her, hating that it was probably a lie.

Maddie gave her another slow bob of her head. They both turned their attention to the television, Clara eating her terrible pastry and downing it with her horrendous coffee, perfectly content. Because in her right hand sat her daughter's, whose grip had grown just a bit firmer overnight.

Rory left the room quietly, not wanting to interrupt them, and he plucked his mobile out from his back pocket, sending Amy a text to let her know it would be alright for her to visit and that both Clara and Maddie were doing just fine. The woman had warned him if he didn't send her a message with their condition every few hours – and she made it clear Rory or another nurse was to make sure Clara ate and was cared for as well – she would begin calling the hospital and her shouts would not be pretty. He smiled as she messaged him back she would be by after work and then he pushed the mobile back into his trousers, making his way towards a room in which John was standing just beside his bed, fingers of one hand extended on the count of three, as he considered something.

"Mr. Smith?" Rory questioned.

The man turned, offering him a sad smile before telling him, "Out of your hair, Mr. Williams – I've been discharged, just waiting on my incredibly late ride, and trying to work out my plans for the rest of my life. As you can imagine, I'm quite flustered at the prospect, but I've been instructed by a cardiologist to, and I quote, _take it easy for a while_."

He smiled at John, who had dropped his chin to his chest to chuckle, and gestured back with his thumb, informing him quietly, "I thought you'd like to know – and you're not to tell anyone I've told you as it's breaking rules – but Maddie's woken, she's with Clara now. I could escort you to the room."

John's knees gave slightly and he turned to lean into the bed for support, taking a long breath and letting it go with a half-laugh as he shook his head, "Thank you for telling me, but no, I shouldn't bother them. They're good now, maybe it's best I leave them be."

"Are you kidding me?" Rory shot. "It's been almost a week of you going on and on about how much you miss her – how much you miss _them_ – and you won't even go say hello?" And to John's inquisitive stare, Rory shot, "No, I haven't told anyone I've been in here to talk to you; I'd rather not die at the hands of my wife or her best friend," he straightened, "Or both," he winced and tilted his head, "They're actually quite terrifying when you think of their potential for destruction."

Managing a laugh, John pulled himself up to stand and he gave Rory's shoulder a quick clap of his hand, hearing his phone jingle and seeing it was Jack's notification that he was outside. "Rory, thank you for lending me an ear, but I think it best I take this wounded soul and move along."

"That's it," Rory stated as John passed him. "I didn't take you for that sort."

"What sort is that?" John questioned, standing at the door.

"The sort to just walk away," Rory accused.

Turning slightly, John smiled weakly, and then he explained, "I've done enough damage, Mr. Williams, wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe you did some, yeah, but you did some good too – that's got to count for something."

John considered him with a gentle chuckle. The man seemed ready to push an air bubble into his IV line when he'd first entered, but in the past few days, he'd turned around completely. John hadn't offered any excuses for his behavior, merely explained what had happened. The simple dreams and the complicated reality and how he imagined eventually Clara simply wouldn't need him anymore in either. And he'd explained just how hollow he'd felt without them and how terribly he'd miss them now that they were gone – and John understood they were gone. He'd accepted that as punishment for his lies and he'd apologized for ever holding Clara even an iota responsible.

"Talk to her," Rory argued, "Clara is a pretty logical person. Sickeningly so, in fact."

Laughing, John gave a wave and supplied, "Love is not a logical thing."

"What do I say," he shouted, stopping the older man in the hall, "What do I say when she asks about you? Because Clara will ask about you."

John bowed his head and turned back. He looked to Rory and nodded. "Tell her it's not her fault, it never was. Tell her to find someone good; tell her to find a properly good someone to spend her days with. And tell her not to be afraid to love again, because the mistakes of terrible men shouldn't stop her from finding the love she deserves." He laughed. "Tell her to cherish her daughter," he took a breath and brightened, "And tell her to have a fantastic life."

"What do I say about you?"

He thought about it a moment before answering, "Il n'est rien de réel que le rêve et l'amour."

Rory shook his head and called, "I don't know what that means."

John smiled and turned, making his way towards the lift and pressing the ground button, eyes closing against the turning of his stomach as the lift dropped, and the hollowing of his chest as his heart broke again. He stepped out into the frigid air and looked to Jack's car and the man inside gripping the steering wheel and staring out at the street in front of him. John fell into the passenger seat and waited, rubbing his hands together and then cupping them over his mouth to give them a warm breath.

"You alright?" Jack asked quietly.

"Not really," John replied.

"Your heart, or her," he turned to question.

John smiled and shrugged, "Her, of course. I care little for the state of a muscle in my chest, knowing she has no use for it."

Nodding slowly, Jack tightened his grip on the steering wheel before looking to him and telling him, "You know, that's actually pretty disgusting if you think about it – I mean, I know you were going for romantic," and he laughed when John's hand swung out to hit his shoulder, shielding himself before settling back in his seat and nodding, "You alright though?"

Looking to his hands, he breathed, "I'm not, but with time, I will be."

"Given any thought to what you'll do now? Seeing as you're effectually retired?"

Smiling, John looked out to the street and sighed, "For a while, recuperating from this, remaining hopeful Clara will find a way to forgive me and show up at my door with her four little knocks and her beautiful little girl; learning to live with the emptiness of that flat until I decide where I want to go when she doesn't."

"Go?" John spat.

Turning to his friend with his head leaned to his left, John groaned, "You don't think I can stay here, do you? With her lingering just around every corner now? I'd hate to do any more damage."

"Clara's a big girl," Jack began.

But John raised a hand and corrected on a sigh, "I meant her daughter – I won't cause that child any more suffering; she never deserved that in the first place."

Jack was nodding, and then he pulled the car out onto the street carefully, beginning to drive as John looked out at the city. Somehow it seemed brighter. Squinting against the sunlight, he counted the buildings for a while, watching them turn into familiar parks and then homes and then into apartment complexes that surrounded his own. He asked Jack for privacy the man was reluctant to give him – and John could see that fear of leaving him alone; he demanded John send him a message every few hours – before riding up to his flat and pushing into it slowly, closing the door behind him.

He stood in the middle of his living room a while, staring out of the window, the memory of her figure calmly standing there looking out at the city warmed him slightly, but it faded all too quickly, leaving him in the blandness of his life. John set his things down and he leafed through his books, the ones he had hidden away in his kitchen, finding some old recipe and working on it a while. He sat at his table and listened to the light tick tock of an old clock that sat in his bedroom, and he stared at the food until it became cold.

His phone sat on the table beside him and he picked it up every few minutes, until the battery had drained and the sun had fallen and he realized he had no place to be. He had no one to share his time with; he had no one to help with their dreams; he had only a stale flat filled with empty air that burned his lungs to breath. He stood and paced and he thought about how she'd told him not to. He read his books without seeing the words, tossing them aside angrily as his mind refused to focus on any plot or place or idea. He stood in a hot shower until his fingertips wrinkled and the water had gone lukewarm and then he laid in bed to stare at the ceiling.

John rubbed his hands over his face and he thought about her. He closed his eyes and he thought about her laughter and how she bowed her head bashfully sometimes when she spoke. He thought about Maddie and how soon she would be going home. He smiled and tossed his sheets aside, giving up on sleep for the moment to walk towards his bedroom window and lean against the edge. John looked out at the city lights and he thought about the little girl who'd be scared to sleep, fearful of falling into that never-ending slumber.

He thought about Clara and how she'd fear the same for a while. Every single time her girl closed those wondrous eyes of hers. Letting his head drop, he released a low moan of sadness and he shook his head, whispering, "Sleep well, little one, for you'll wake in the morning to your mother at your side, the same as it's always been."

And he'd been right. Maddie's eyes blinked rapidly with exhaustion as Clara watched her, swallowing roughly because she knew what the girl was thinking. She reached to take her hand, holding it gently within her own as she looked over the feeding tube still there – they'd remove it in the morning, she'd been promised – and the IV line taped securely to her other arm – that would come off with time as well – and then she looked to the girl who was staring back at her, a curious look on her face.

"It's been a very long day," Clara told her quietly, "And you've been such a brave girl."

Maddie sighed.

Clara brushed the girls bangs aside and offered, "I know what you're afraid of, but it's just sleep." She smiled and assured, "You'll sleep and you'll wake and I'll be here, I promise you."

"Mummy," Maddie whispered.

Her eyes closed at the sound of the word from her daughter's lips flowing through her senses. It tickled at her stomach and it thumped at her heart and it swam through her mind. Nothing like it had felt in dreams, she understood. It was too real and the response was palpable in a way it could never be in a dream – she understood that now. The knowledge might fade away with time, but in that moment she knew nothing about a dream could replace the feel of her child's hand in her own, or the warmth of her forehead when she kissed it, or the way her soul lifted, hearing her child call to her.

"Would you like me to read you a story?" She questioned, smiling and leaning into the bed.

The girl smiled. It was a smile that was getting a little more normal each time she lifted the corners of her mouth and Clara watched her try to nod her head. "Yeah," she breathed.

Releasing her, she turned to retrieve her bag, digging into it to push past school paperwork Amy had brought her for her sabbatical and some book her father had gotten for her and random items, to a smaller colorful book she plucked free with a gasp of triumph. One that earned her the smallest breath of laughter from her daughter. She settled the book on the bed and let it fall open, staring down at the omelette recipe she'd tucked back in there, holding the spot of the story John wanted her to read to Maddie. She turned it over and stared down at the page a moment, feeling Maddie's fingers press into her hand, and then she quietly began to read.


	38. Chapter 38

"They say it could snow today, Clara, isn't that a bit mad. It's not even Christmas! Suppose it's the whole mini-ice age nonsense the bloody scientists are always going on about," her father's words were shouted as he stepped out of the car, rounding it to retrieve a bag of random items in the trunk. Things that had been in the hospital that Maddie felt needed to be brought home. She had a stack of cards from Clara's students, a tiny angel statue her Gran Gran had brought her months ago to watch over her, three new little dolls Amy and Rory had brought, and the bear the hospital had provided, whom she'd named Mubmub because it made Clara make an awful face that delighted the girl.

Clara stepped out and moved quickly, opening the door behind hers to look in on her daughter, strapped in tightly, eyes wandering up towards a building she hadn't seen with her own eyes in over a year. Undoing the restraints on her car seat, she breathed, "Ready?"

Maddie turned swiftly, her smile brightening her face as she nodded and gasped, "Yeah."

Taking a step back, Clara was ready to catch Maddie if she fell, but she was told to let her girl try to do things on her own and she tried so very hard not to look worried every time her daughter began to try something new. Like climbing in and out of her car seat. She was careful though, and slow, hands reaching out for firm grips on the door and Clara's outstretched hand, and she landed on the pavement with a little grunt as her trainers lit up against the damp ground underneath her.

She'd grown.

The thought pained her slightly. She'd gone home to pick out the perfect outfit to bring her home in, and when the girl had tried pulling it on over her head, she'd looked at Clara with a grimace before lamenting, with the garment still sitting atop her head, "Mummy, my dress shrank."

Amy had been the one to exclaim happily from beside Clara, "Well, this means one thing, monkey! New outfit, and when you're home, we get to take you shopping! Girl's day out!"

Clara tried not to think about shopping for a whole new wardrobe for a five-year-old because she knew what it would cost and she knew how tight her budget would have to become for a while. She'd been warned not to think on it when she'd been told to take a few months off, at least, but looking down at the girl who was now waiting patiently, her breathing labored with excitement, Clara began the calculations in her mind before her father stopped her with a gentle hand to her shoulder.

"Whatever's working your gears right now," he whispered, "Put it aside and we'll talk later, you don't need to worry, Clara, trust me. Let's get her home – that's the goal today, Clara. Get Maddie home."

She reached up with her free hand, giving his a pat as she nodded and sighed, "Thank you, dad."

"Amy and Rory should already be up there," he told her in secret. "Said your kids at school made her a nice banner to welcome her. She'll love it."

Her eyes warmed with tears as she looked to Maddie, still obediently waiting for her mother's instruction to walk. For a moment she stood, frozen to the slightly slippery ground, and then Maddie glanced up at her and Clara nodded, telling her softly, "It's a bit icy, be careful."

Maddie's giggle sent a wave of comfort that melted into Clara's bones and they moved together towards the front of the building, stepping in through the doors and laughing together as their trainers squeaked along the linoleum floor towards the lifts. Maddie awaited Clara's nod before jamming two fingers into their floor button and then she stood, body hopping in place as they rose. Just the way she used to.

Clara held her shoulders delicately, resisting the temptation to lift her up and hug her, to pepper her face in kisses and nuzzle her nose with her own, and fall to the ground in a heap. She'd done so much of it in the past few weeks, her daughter had grown used to it, moaning and patting her back. With a smile, she thought, it could wait until that night, nestled in bed together – because she wasn't quite ready for her to be in a different room – she could pull her close and breathe her in knowing they were home.

Not in a dreamscape, but in their proper home. Clara grinned as the doors opened, taking a long breath as they moved slowly down the hall towards her door, and Maddie plucked the keys from Clara's fingers, jamming the right one into the slot and groaning with the effort as she turned it before pushing into the flat with a small shout as Amy and Rory, Gran-Gran, and Danny all hollered, "Welcome home!"

The girl dropped the keys and then frowned down at them before looking to her hands, as though they'd betrayed her, and she stated, "I'll get them," and bent slowly to retrieve them and hand them to Clara, who took the girl's cheeks in her palms to watch her smile nervously.

"Don't worry about the keys," Clara told her lightly. "We'll teach those hands soon enough." Because her mobility had almost returned to normal, but there were moments her grip failed her, or she tripped over her own feet, or her legs grew tired of walking. She knew it was simply a matter of time before her daughter was completely back, and Clara was more than content to give her all the time she needed.

"Because you're a great teacher," Maddie quietly responded.

"Because you're a strong little girl," Clara explained.

Clara kissed her forehead and straightened, ushering the girl in and watching as Maddie raised her hands towards the sheepish man standing just a few feet back from the others as she shouted, "Danny!" She walked towards him, careful about her steps, and fell into his arms.

He hoisted her up, holding her vigilantly and giving her stomach a poke and Clara noticed his hands were his own, no silver suit surrounding them and she watched as Maddie glanced down, kicking at his stomach as the man feigned pain while the girl giggled. "You're metal," she offered bluntly, and Clara saw Rory choke on a sip of water.

"I had an accident, kind of like you did, and I have to wear a suit to help me walk, otherwise," he groaned and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner that made Clara smile, "I'd be crawling around on the floor, like a dumb snake."

"That would be silly," Maddie told him plainly before giggling again.

Danny looked to Clara as she approached, and he waited as she took his hand in hers, thumbs running along his knuckles as she asked, "Half suit?"

He nodded proudly, "Graduated, I suppose. Chest down. Seems like that's where it'll sit, but I'm just gonna choose to remain hopeful."

Looking to Maddie, Clara nodded and told him honestly, "Always remain hopeful, Danny."

Amy hollered, "Yo, little monkey, there's cake!"

Three hours later, when it was just Rory and Clara huddled on the couch while Amy and Maddie showed off some random dance move in the space in front of them, Clara kicked off her shoes and inched forward, snatching her daughter into her lap as the girl laughed. She held her until the laughter died away and the little girl simply lay against her, taking long breaths. Clara looked to those small hands lying comfortably atop her arms as she held her daughter, feeling her tears welling up.

Rory tapped Amy's arm and nodded his head towards the door, but Clara called, "No, I want you both to stay for a little while longer," she looked up at her friends, "If it's not a bother."

Amy fell onto the couch beside Clara heavily, and with an exaggerated grunt that sent Maddie into a wild laugh that made Clara smile, and then the woman asked, "Maddie, dunno if anyone's told you yet, but your uncle Rory and I are going to have a baby next year."

Eyes going wide, Maddie gasped, "When?"

Hand toggling, Rory sat carefully and said, "Mmmm'bout the beginning of June. We were hoping you'd be willing to help us, after they're born, the way you did with Melody – because she loved your company so much we couldn't imagine having a baby without you there to be their friend."

Nodding vigorously, Maddie sat up and then crawled into Amy's lap, straddling her and looking to her before touching at her stomach through her blouse, asking, "Is it a boy or a girl?"

They all laughed quietly before Amy explained, "Don't know yet, they've gotta cook just a bit longer before we find out, but we know their name, either way. You wanna help us get used to saying it?"

"Yes," Maddie declared, "I do."

"He," Rory began before adding, "Or she," with a smile to Amy, "Will be called River."

The girl thought about it before bending slightly to whisper at Amy's stomach, "Hello River, my name is Maddie," then she straightened, "This is weird, I'm talking to your belly button."

Clara laughed, watching the girl stiffen as she yawned, right hand coming up to cover her mouth before she looked to her with that twinge of fear she got every night, just before bed. Because Maddie was afraid she'd fall asleep forever, and Clara hoped the apprehension wouldn't linger too long, especially now that they were home. She reached for her, standing and picking her up off Amy to walk towards her bedroom, hearing her friends talking quietly on the couch.

Setting Maddie down and looking to the girl's dresser, Clara stood there a moment before declaring sadly, "We forget to get you new pyjamas."

Maddie twirled on the spot slightly, then beamed up at her and asked, "Could I just wear one of your shirts, mummy? The pretty soft one, with the red flowers?"

Pointing, Clara laughed and offered, "Right back," and she dashed into her room, sifting through her closet for the t-shirt the girl requested, feeling her chest constrict because she'd remembered. She held the accordion door to her closet a moment, taking a long breath as she closed her eyes, thinking on all the times she'd promised herself she wouldn't throw away a single item of clothing in case her girl remembered. And she felt Maddie hug onto her leg, leaning her chin into her hip.

"Mummy?" Maddie asked. Clara glanced down at her, watching her eyes look away a moment before drifting back, a question she wasn't sure she should ask sitting just underneath her worried tongue. "Why wasn't John here today? Are you still mad at him?"

Slipping the shirt off the hanger, she exhaled and then nodded to the bed, watching Maddie walk towards it before pulling herself up to stand so Clara could help her out of her dress. "I'm still a little mad," she told her honestly, dropping her shirt over Maddie's pale body. "And I didn't want to make things weird, this being your first day home."

Shrugging, Maddie responded, "It's weird he's not here."

"Did you expect him to be?" Clara questioned.

The girl plucked at the red comforter she dropped to sit on, crossing her legs underneath her and shrugging again as she admitted, "Yeah," then she looked to Clara, "I mean, I wanted him to be here."

"Why did you want him to be here, Maddie?" Clara prompted, "After knowing he lied."

She sighed, "He didn't lie to me."

Body deflating slightly, Clara moaned, "Knowing it was the same man, and having him not tell you, it's not the same – he still lied to you."

"But he only did it so he wouldn't hurt you. He knew you were hurting too much already," Maddie insisted, and then she yawned again and Clara watched her eyes pop open before she turned her attention to the box beside the bed, "Is that it? Is that how we saw him?"

The girl crawled towards it, fingers curling around the nodules to press them into her temples before smiling at Clara and slipping the last one underneath the shirt, but Clara stood and moved towards the head of the bed, telling her, "Yes, and I have to return that for my deposit money back, which we need," she pried the three nodules off her daughter, setting them carefully down on the box, "And no, we can't talk to him again."

"Because you cancelled your monthly," Maddie supplied.

"Because I have you back," Clara corrected.

The girl frowned and slumped, "Mummy, I think he needs us."

Clara pulled back the sheets and gestured, watching Maddie hesitate before slipping under and lying down to look up at her, waiting as she considered the words before telling her quietly, "He'll be ok, Maddie." She knelt next to the bed, curling an arm around the girl's head and stroking at her bangs with her fingers, watching her eyes flutter shut and then fight to stay open. "He has a world of things to keep him company."

"He doesn't need _things_ , mummy – you said things were not important, _people_ were." She offered an exhausted frustrated sigh before exclaiming, "We're _his_ people."

"Maddie," she told her gently, "I don't need him."

"Yes," the little girl whispered, "You do."

Inhaling deeply, Clara closed her eyes, not wanting to get into an argument with her child over it because it was her first night home, and because in some small way the girl was right. Clara's heart was broken in spite of her daughter lying in front of her, eyes slowly drooping into an inevitable sleep she could no longer fight. She had imagined it, John being there when they'd welcomed Maddie home; she'd imagined it even after their argument and her decision to never speak to him again.

"Mummy," Maddie whispered, eyes closed, face relaxing.

"Yes, baby?"

Her little lips shifted a moment, opening and closing, mind working out just the right thing to say before she offered quietly, "I want to say goodbye to him."

Clara nodded and kissed Maddie's forehead and she told her simple, "Ok," before standing and looking down at her girl, shifting onto her side and snuggling into her bed. Lifting her hands to her cheeks, she wiped at her tears and she felt her heart sink because she'd lied again – how could she take the girl to see John after everything? How could she let her hug him and laugh with him and then take her away again? Would it do her any good to have him explain away his lies as though they meant so little? Would it?

Would it, somehow, help _her_?

She turned and slowly made her way back out into the living room where Rory and Amy were still sitting side by side on the couch engaged in a quiet discussion. Clara nudged at their knees and she nodded, eyes watered and lips trembling, and they shifted apart, letting her drop between them, each reaching for one of her hands to grip as she resisted the urge to cry, staring at the coffee table in front of her. Rory leaned into her and Amy settled her head against hers and they sat quietly a moment.

"I should be so much happier than this," Clara admitted.

"It's gonna take time, sweetie," Amy offered, "You've been through so much, it's just going to take an adjustment period before things get back to normal."

Shaking her head, she frowned, "She wants to see him; she wants to say goodbye." Clara looked to Rory then, "A big part of me is screaming no, because he doesn't deserve that; but then a small part of me thinks maybe Maddie does, but I don't know if I should."

Rory nodded and assured, "Clara, you're her mum and whatever decision you make, it'll be the one that's best for her."

"But what's best for her, huh?" She asked. "I always thought I was doing what's best for her and before that, what's best for me, and look at the mess I've made of everything. It's like every decision leads to this," her hands slipped away from theirs, gripping together and then lifting to erase the tears that had begun to roll over her cheeks. "I chose the wrong man and then I chose to stay too long and then I chose to try and pretend everything was alright and then I chose this dream thing and then I chose to try to move on with a new man and look at it all. All I've gotten is hurt. All I've gotten Maddie is hurt." She shook her head and demanded on a squeak, "When does it stop hurting?"

Amy pulled her into a hug as she began to sob, stroking her hair as Rory laid a gentle hand to her back, telling her quietly, "Clara, it only seems that way now – it always seems that way at the worse times, but you have to remember that what you've also gotten out of this all is that little girl in there. You got her smiles and her hugs and her love and her incredibly tenacity."

The woman holding her nodded against her and supplied, "Clara, you've got us, and your dad and your Gran and all the kids at school who want to know when they're favorite teacher is coming back. You've got your life and yeah, terrible shit has happened, Clara, but Maddie's home and you can start on again and who cares if you don't have a bloke around this very second, or never at all. You can't let yourself wallow," Amy pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "I won't allow it."

She managed a laugh, and lifted herself up to sit, taking the tissues Rory was handing her before looking between the two of them. "I just wish I hadn't..." she began.

"Fallen in love?" Rory offered with a smile.

Clara shrugged and admitted, "Let Maddie fall in love with him." She took a long breath and smiled to Amy before admitting, "I made a date with Danny this Saturday, said it'd be just as friends, take Maddie out for lunch, maybe to the park because she'd like that – keep it casual and all." She smirked, "Start fresh, make another wrong decision, move on, yeah?"

Shaking her head, Amy told her firmly, "Clara Oswald, you are going to be just fine."

They laughed together and Clara nodded with her as Rory offered to get them all another slice of cake, wishing for just one second she believed her friend's words. And after they'd gone a half hour later, she went to her room quietly, careful not to disturb the girl lying in the middle of her bed, nestled into all the sheets, as she changed into a set of pyjamas and crawled in next to her, smiling as Maddie blinked up at her sleepily.

"We're home," she whispered to the girl who turned and cuddled into her.

Maddie replied quietly, "Yes , mummy, we're home."


	39. Chapter 39

They'd had fish and chips, Danny sitting across from Clara with Maddie between them on Clara's right. The little girl had laughed at his silly jokes and funny faces and she'd quietly asked him at least a thousand questions about his soldiering and his metal suit. Clara smiled when her daughter proclaimed he was a superhero; she laughed when Danny shook his head and replied he was just a man; she clenched her jaw to keep from crying when the girl had looked him in the eye and affirmed, "Well, you're a superhero to me."

For a quick moment, she thought maybe she'd been wrong about Danny. They made their way to a park nearby and she'd watched him lift the girl to sit on his shoulders, the way he used to, as they'd made their way to the just right bench. One in the shade, close enough to the swings and the slides where Clara and Danny could sit and watch Maddie rush about with the other children already there. He did a careful turn and smiled up at her as she wrapped her pale hands around his chin, bending to rest her chin atop his head, giggling delightfully.

Maybe she'd been wrong.

Maybe he was worth a shot.

Maybe he _was_ the right guy.

And maybe it just seemed that way because she was angry at someone else.

Clara stared at a swing that twisted as it swung about haphazardly, its rider already climbing atop a metal cluster of welded bars that made her dizzy to think about climbing, and she thought about all the times she'd tried to convince herself there just couldn't be a right guy for her. Clara wondered if she'd sabotaged her own relationship with Danny, stuck in her own self-doubt, and she smiled when she felt his knuckle brush lightly against her jumper at her elbow, just before he leaned into her on the bench, pointing a finger out towards the slides.

"You alright," he began softly, "I figured you'd be hovering."

"Why?" Clara laughed, "Do you take me for that sort; a hovering parent?"

He shook his head and looked away when she turned to take him in. Comfortable and calm, body casually sitting back against the light wooden beams of the bench, hands folding in his lap, fingers carefully testing each other as though the feelings he felt would disappear in an instant. She knew that worry well, glancing out at her daughter. Maddie wasn't the only one who feared she would return to the coma ward. Clara had barely slept since her child had woken; her mind too concentrated on making sure the little girl woke in the morning with that sleepy smile on her face.

Her heart in her throat until Maddie looked to her and stated quietly, "Morning, mummy."

"Nah," Danny breathed, "I just thought, with everything that's happened, you'd be checking on her more often, but you're a bit spaced out today – mind completely elsewhere." He took a long breath and then nodded, "So, where exactly is your mind?"

Clara picked at her fingers and told him nervously, "I don't want to talk about it."

He gestured at her with a wag of his forefinger, "That's the problem, Clara." He paused to lick his lips before challenging, "You never do."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She countered, looking from him to Maddie, climbing up a set of stairs before carefully sliding down a blue tube and making sure she had her footing before turning to do it again. Assuring herself she could.

Danny chuckled and spoke softly, "You and me, we maybe could have been something before, but you always had something on your mind – some thought you built up, brick by brick against me – and now it's the same." He shrugged, "Maybe not for you and me, but there's something there, like a storm in your head you can't quite navigate your way through to find that peace you need to move on to better things."

"When did you become so wise?" Clara teased.

"Two months in a hospital with a therapist," he admitted, lips dropping slightly. "We talked quite a bit about you."

Body turning towards Danny, Clara exclaimed, "Why me?"

"I could have turned the assignment down," he said on a nod. "Could have stayed here; could have proposed to you; could have been Maddie's father; could have tried doing all these crazy things going through my head at the time." Danny looked to her, "But everything in me told me there were two battles I was choosing between and one I could win and one was lost already, and so I chose what seemed best for me at the time."

Her daughter tripped and reached to grab a metal pole, staring down at her feet in frustration and then she slowly made her way to the steps again, one foot at a time, concentrating on each, as Clara understood, whispering, "I'm so sorry, Danny, that I couldn't be there that way with you. That you ended up going to this bloody war. That you ended up in that stupid suit."

The man laughed and said, "That's not why I'm here Clara," he shrugged "There's no apology to give – I'm just concerned because I still see that battle raging inside your head and I wanted to tell you to let it go." He nudged her with his elbow. "Whatever it is, it's not worth all this heartache, all this tension, all this quiet rage you've got." He looked out at Maddie, "And she doesn't deserve to have a mum who hangs on to all of that. She loves you too much for that."

Clara inhaled deeply and she shifted on the bench, turning and watching the smug look on Danny's face quickly shift into concern, understanding there was something she needed to say and knowing she was finally going to talk. And she did. Clara let it all tumble out of her mouth as best she could and she kept her eyes trained on his, trying to gauge how he felt about it all. How did this man before her judge the one in her head, or the one that created the one in her head? She watched for the creasing of his brow in confusion and then in anger and then into something that looked a bit like sorrow – like maybe, possibly, he understood John just a little bit – and when she finished, she wilted slightly, deflated, left shoulder leaning painfully into the hard wood behind her as her head tilted and she squinted against the sun, watching him take in a breath before puffing his cheeks and letting it out in a huff as he gripped his knees.

"You need to see him," he finally told her firmly, head bobbing up and down.

"See him," Clara repeated before groaning, "Danny, no, I am _finished_ with him. I mean, what would I possibly get, at this point, in seeing him again."

Raising his eyes to hers, Danny pinched his lips together and then told her bluntly, "Closure."

"Howso?"

"Because you're angry, but you can't really be over him until that's gone and the only way you're going to drive that out is to go see him. Make sure it's finished; make sure you can look him in the eye and not feel anything more than how much you don't care."

Clara smiled and told him bluntly, "That's a bit easier said than done, and you know it."

Laughing, Danny reached to take her hand, gripping it lightly within his as he explained, "Everything's easier said than done, but you have to take that step – and you have to allow Maddie to take that step, let her begin healing from that too."

"You think I should let her talk to him?" She asked curiously.

Shrugging, Danny said, "She's a tougher kid than you give her credit for, Clara." He leaned into her and revealed, "And she wants to; I think she needs to."

Clara nodded slowly and she looked to the girl who was perched atop the highest set of bars, eyes peering out at the blue skies around them as her cheeks, tinted a rosy color by the cold and her running about, flexed slightly as she bit lightly at the insides, lost in some thought. She didn't want her daughter plagued by questions over why John had done what he'd done and she hated to think her daughter wasn't satisfied with her word. She also thought, for just a moment with a laugh, about how her child – her timid little girl – had somehow climbed higher than any other child seemed willing.

Thinking to Danny's assertion, Clara bit her lip and nodded, "Maybe I'll give him a ring later," and she leaned her head into his shoulder, quietly adding, "Thank you for putting up with me, Danny."

Feeling the muscles of his arm relax, Clara smiled as he laughed.

Back in his flat, John was staring out at the sky when the doorbell rang and for a moment he sat still on the edge of his bed, continuing to stare out at the blue dotted with white clouds – a perfect Saturday. People going on about their business; people taking walks or strolling through parks or checking off lists at the market; people living. He smiled at the sky and imagined Clara was doing the same. She was enjoying her little girl, doing one of those things, or possibly just lying about in bed, being lazy, as one ought to do sometimes.

Exhaling, he watched his breath fog the glass and remembered it was winter. It was a week until Christmas and then a week after that they started a new year. He nodded to himself because it would be a new year. Everything he'd known for the past thirty years would be gone and he would have to imagine a new world. On a laugh, he touched a line through the fog on the window, remembering how he'd explained to Clara how the machines worked.

The doorbell rang again and he dropped his head, tapping his chin to his chest with a small noise of discontent, knowing exactly who stood on the other side of the door. Knowing it wouldn't be her and hating how much it pained him still. He pushed away from the view of the city slowly and forced himself to make the long walk towards the door to unlock it, twisting the knob and letting it swing open slightly as he went towards his couch to fall into it, listening to the rustling of bags as Jack entered.

"I," Jack began, extending the single letter for a good three seconds as he shuffled into the living room to set down his bags, "Picked us up a pizza with everything on it, a six pack of some cheap beer, and," he reached into a bag and pulled out a disc before laughing, "Ok, ha, that one's for me for later," and he dropped it back in and lifted another out, "Ah, ok, so this is the most manly man movie, says the very not manly man at the shop, guaranteed to take your mind off Clara for two hours and possibly grow hair on your pasty white chest."

John sighed.

"Oh, come on," Jack groaned. "At least indulge me with some witty comeback, some snappy insult." He pointed and nodded, "Tell me to shut up, or tell me I'm being an idiot."

John took another long breath and glanced up at him.

"Anything," Jack argued.

John shrugged.

Dropping the disc back, he plucked up the first and moved towards John's entertainment center with light huff as he stated, "Erotic twinks it is."

"Jack," John spat.

Turning with a smile, Jack let the bag fall onto the coffee table and he threw himself into the couch beside the other man. He nudged him gently and asked honestly, "How are you?"

Fingers reaching up to touch at his chest a moment, John responded quietly, "Empty."

"Come on, John, she was one woman – one woman you knew for barely over a month – and she…"

"I loved her," he shot angrily. "It was irrational and unexpected and I hate that it happened and yet, it happened and I can't quietly forget her so easily."

Jack nodded and looked to the television, sitting up and popping open a beer to hand to the other man before opening one for himself. "And you knew this wouldn't end well. We had several conversations about how it wouldn't end well and you continually assured me it would be fine." He nodded and huffed, "Now look at you."

Taking a long sip and inching forward to flip open the pizza box, he stared down at it and argued, "I knew it wouldn't end well, but I imagined it would have been easier." He sighed, "The hardest part is sitting about hoping it's been easier for her; hoping she can take her mind off me and my antics to concentrate on healing her daughter, and not simply _knowing_."

Watching him pick up a slice and take a large bite, Jack released a long sigh of relief and he nodded, telling him honestly, "I'm sorry, John – but we really have to work on moving on."

"I won't be going to one of your clubs," he groaned.

Jack laughed and shook his head, "Wouldn't dream of dragging you to one of those places, buddy, but have you given any more thought to Amsterdam."

"I won't be soliciting any prostitutes any time soon, either," John responded coolly.

They ate quietly a moment, Jack making sure his friend picked up a second slice and downed it with half a beer before looking up to his shelves on the wall to ask, "Are you still making plans to go."

John set his beer down and clapped his hands together before shrugging, looking to the same books as he explained, "I've lived frugally my entire life with the fear of being alone and incapable of supporting myself. I have pensions stored away. I could be comfortable for quite some time just about anywhere, it's just a matter of deciding where I want to go."

"You're really just going to up and leave me?" Jack shot.

Smiling bashfully, John turned to take in his friend's dejected stare, and his lips drooped with some sort of understanding – Jack had a lot of flings, but no real friends. He reached to clap a hand to his knee and nodded slowly, then said, "There's no point in me giving you a lecture on the ties you should have been making all of your life."

"No," Jack spat. "I made a tie and I tied it really tight, probably too tight, and now the asshole is leaving over some girl, her daughter, and a broken heart."

He looked back at him again and shook his head, "Jack, no matter where I go, I'll never be more than a phone call away and there'll always be a couch for you to sleep on… or a hostel nearby should you be needing entertainment." He smiled when Jack backhanded him on the shoulder lightly. "I need to get away from this place," John breathed. "There's too much pain here, enough so that it becomes difficult to breathe."

"You need to talk to her," Jack told him sternly. "You need to send her a message and you need to get her to meet you somewhere and you need to talk to her." He raised a hand and dropped it heavily into his lap when the other man turned, "Otherwise, you'll never be able to breathe, because she'll always be on your mind, one hand wrapped around your ticker."

"Oh, that's a shame," John sighed, looking to Jack's confused look to finish, "For a moment I thought you were going to suggest she'd always have a hand wrapped around my pecker."

Mouth falling open, Jack gasped, and then John laughed, seeing the shocked expression his friend wore. John fell back into the couch and he clapped a hand to his chest, air leaving his lungs in painful huffs of heavy laughter Jack joined in on and he was still laughing as his mobile buzzed, ignoring it to dig into the bag for the second disc he pushed into the player before dropping back beside Jack, who wrapped an arm around him for a moment, giving him a quick pull of a hug before slipping away, turning his attention to the loud music beginning to thump from the speakers.

It was four hours later – after the pizza was eaten and the alcohol Jack has brought had been consumed, and heavier liquor had been pulled out from John's cabinets in the kitchen, and neither man felt more manly for having watched the ridiculous action movie – John picked up his mobile. Half-drunk and with heavy eyes he stared at it as tried to decipher what it had been blinking about. Leaning with a groan against a bed that creaked back at him angrily, John couldn't make out what the phone was chirping about and he chuckled to himself before tossing the device onto his bed, watching it bounce and land with a clatter against the wall just underneath the window in his bedroom. It remained blinking, waiting for him to fall into a stupor and pick it back up again to inform him of what he'd missed.

2 Missed Calls.

From Clara Oswald.


	40. Chapter 40

"I'm sorry for the call, but, I really need to see you. Or rather, I really need for… Maddie would like to see you, to say good-bye, and I would appreciate it if you could give me a call so we can schedule a meet somewhere. Maybe at a park, somewhere… _nice_? It should only take a few moments of your time, but I think it'll be good for her and I do believe you want what's best for her… You could text me if you like."

John listened to the message four times and then he sat in silence, staring at his reflection in the mirror above his dresser, watching the old man, face dressed a pale green as his stomach turned, who stared back. Some stranger, he thought, lines on his face barely moving to register the thought. When did he become that man, he wondered, with so many years behind his eyes.

He dropped his gaze back to the mobile in his hand and then he lifted it, finding Clara's phone number in his contacts, looking to her smiling face staring back at him. It was a photo he'd taken on the weekend he'd spent with her. Somewhere in the aisles of the market, when he'd teased about whether they should make a cake for her birthday, which she'd been adamant about not celebrating, or whether they should get something from the bakery, since she'd likely burn a cake of her own making.

He could remember the laugh she'd given him just as her hand lifted and landed against his arm, giving him a firm squeeze that made his heart flutter for a moment. It was loud enough for people to look in their direction and he was surprised he didn't care what they thought of it as she wrapped her arms around his midsection to inch up and offer him a quick peck of her lips to his, a set of girlish giggles still rumbling from her throat. She'd removed her mobile then, watching him a moment before stating on a nod, "Here, let me capture the moment; you, without a care in the world, enjoying this day, as you should."

And he'd smiled because he'd been confident then it would be the first of many days they'd spend together, foolish and carefree and in love. He'd convinced himself of that and he'd slipped his own mobile out as she studied the photo taken on hers, calling quietly, "Smile for me now, Clara," because he never imagined it would be one of the last times.

He let his finger hover over the call button for two minutes before he let it drop down on the message function, typing out a quick note to reply, "Tell me a time and place. I will be there."

And then he added, "For Maddie. Anything."

She chose the park close to his flat, the place near the street vendors and the bench on which they'd sat and shared a box of sushi what seemed like ages ago. There weren't any swings or play things, just a pond and a walkway and wooden benches nestled under trimmed trees and he understood well enough, she didn't want to give her daughter a reason to linger. He frowned at the thought, that she wanted to be gone as quickly as possible, and when John arrived, he pushed his hands into his pockets, shivering against the cold and wishing he'd thought to wear a thicker jacket. But this one had an inner pocket that had been perfect for the small gift he held for the little girl he'd wronged. A tiny momentum she might appreciate as she grew older.

Something, possibly, her mother might appreciate as well.

Tucking his chin into his dark scarf, John closed his eyes, seesawing anxiously on his feet as his fingers curled and uncurled behind the fabric of his trousers. He waited for only a few minutes before he heard her call out to him casually. Before he pinched his eyes shut even moreso and steeled himself for how he would feel, seeing her again. It was as painful as he thought; looking across the yellowing grass to the woman who stood with the little girl bundled in a bulky blue jacket that hung almost to her knees, each looking back at him with just a touch of a smirk almost hidden behind their masks of solemnity. The exact same one that dotted their left cheeks with the shadow of those dimples and Clara was the first to smooth her skin of it and look to the ground and then to her daughter, who glanced up at her.

They exchanged a few words as John remained still, wondering if he should go to them, and he watched Clara nod before she released her hold of Maddie's shoulder, visibly bending inward as the child began a quick walk towards him, her little hands hidden within red mittens that were now curled around her front, as if securing the jacket to herself. Maddie remained stern until she was a few steps away, and then she offered him a brilliant smile that broke his heart because it dawned on him that this wasn't a dream. Maddie was very much real and approaching him with steps that rushed along the walkway until she stumbled just a foot away, landing lightly within his grasp as he knelt before her, holding her steady and giving Clara's wide eyed stare a nod of assurance.

He would not let her daughter fall.

"I'm still not all awake, I think," Maddie offered as an apology, but she didn't release her hold on his arms as she thought a moment and continued, "Sometimes my feet or my hands don't do what I want them to, but it's getting better."

He nodded as she smiled, feeling her fingers through the layers of fabric, holding tightly to him, and he explained quietly, "Best we not keep your mum waiting too long on us, Madeline."

She shook her head, and then watched him, dark eyes roaming over his face before she sighed, "She's sad now, the way she used to be."

John nodded, glancing towards her and seeing her standing deadly still, arms crossed, looking to them. A million things blowing through her mind like leaves on the wind; things that would continue to flutter about for too long, never truly finding a place to land, he knew.

He bowed his head and asked, "Are you sad, Madeline?"

"I'm a lot of things," the girl responded quietly. "How come mummy couldn't see you?"

Her cheeks went flush and she looked away a moment, then looked back to him, waiting on his answer as he considered her question and told her honestly, "Our minds are tricky things, Madeline, and the machines we used to have those dreams, they're a bit like a canvas awaiting a painting – do you paint?" She nodded slowly, eyes now locked on his in concentration. "A lot of what our minds paint is automatic, it's simply there without effort or question. Like walking into a museum, looking at something already dried and hung on a wall. But some of us, some of us are special, Madeline, and we enter those dreams like paint brushes and we can paint atop what's already there and we can make our own paintings."

"But how come mummy couldn't see you," she pleaded in frustration.

"I painted something beautiful overtop something less pleasing," he laughed, shaking his head before looking back to the pained expression plaguing her tiny features. "Madeline, no one wants to look at this face for too long, so I made it..."

The girl's hands moved to his cheeks, holding them steady within her mittens and she whispered, "Your face is just a door." She nodded, "Mummy taught me that – what makes you beautiful is what's inside you, and you have a lot of good things inside you that make you beautiful." She tucked her bottom lip between her lips and her hand slipped away.

John stared at the child before him, the wonderful child who looked back at him the same way she always had in those dreams and he should have known then, _definitively_ , that she could see right through the facade. That it had never been a secret to her, what he looked like, but it didn't change the truth. He sighed as he informed her, "I'm filled with loneliness and lies and anger, and those are not beautiful things, Madeline. They're very ugly things."

"You're just scared," she spat. "Because you're also filled with helping and loving and laughing, and those are good things. Being lonely and telling lies and being angry because you're lonely, we can take that paint off your drawing easy."

He chuckled, head bowing to look at her colorful trainers and then he lifted his head to take in her steely look of determination and he stated, "This is the real world, Madeline, it's not like the dream world where you get to paint over things and make them your own."

"That's not true," she claimed, "This is like a waking dream, we paint on it every day. That's why we have to be good people and if we're not, that's why we have to change. Mummy says anyone can change with enough love."

"Madeline..." he began softly.

"Don't call me Madeline," she grunted, "You know that, you're just trying to be an adult."

"Maddie," he whispered.

She shook her head and asked in a choked voice, "Did you lose the love in your heart when it broke?"

"Maddie," he began again.

"Because you told me a secret," she interrupted before stopping to stop her quivering lips. "You told me you had so much love for us." She inhaled deeply and then demanded, "Was that a lie too?"

John's body dropped, sitting on his legs painfully as his hands fell away from the girl's sides and he looked to the ground again, his eyes beginning to fill with burning tears against the small worried breaths she was taking, apprehensively awaiting his answer. He shook his head and looked up at her, feeling the warmth of those droplets rolling over his cheeks, admitting, "That was the truth, Maddie. The truest truth I've ever told. I love you and your mother so very dearly..."

"But it's not enough," she argued, "It's not enough for you."

He watched her tiny body beginning to tremble with some understanding – there was very little she could say or do to change either his mind or her mother's at this point – as he stated, hands coming up to curl around the air while he explained as gently as he could through the anger he was feeling, "I am not enough for you, or for your mother. You both deserve _better_ than me. You both deserve someone who will be with you for so much longer than I know how to be around. Look at this face," he gasped, "It's been lined with time already, and there's so little time left." John turned away a moment, then breathed, "You're young and you think time lasts forever, but it ends and I'm not the friend, or the father, you need."

Nodding slowly, Maddie looked back at her mother and then she turned back and blinked away her own tears, watching them splash onto the cold concrete between them as she slowly told him, "Melody was young. Melody was my age, almost exactly the same. I was older by two months," she nodded proudly. "And she's gone."

"Maddie, I'm so sorry about your friend," he lamented.

"It didn't matter how old she was," Maddie told him sternly. "It didn't matter that her face wasn't full of lines, or that she was still little. We had four years to be best friends. And then she died."

John watched her push her hands together and he knew her fingers were picking at one another through the bright red mittens. He smiled at the motions, remembering the way Clara had done it so often when she was nervous and he looked to her across the park to find her hands clutched in a similar manner. She'd taken a few steps closer, and John could see the red-headed woman approaching, a hand coming out to touch Clara's elbow before Clara clasped her hand together to keep her from fidgeting too much. He looked back to the child who inhaled slowly, ready to explain something he imagined she'd had a lot of time to think about, and he held his breath as she spoke.

"Time isn't like a number you can count on your fingers to do maths," Maddie stated, lifting her chin defiantly to stare him down. "I learned that by myself while I was asleep. The time you have doesn't matter, it's what you do with your time. I was asleep for too long because I was scared of so many things. I think I was scared of death, because I watched Melody die and I didn't know why she did." She shook her head at him, telling him honestly, "Maybe that's why we're the painters in the dreams. We want to paint over the bad things so much that we can. We _believe_ so much we make _magic_." Dropping her chin, she looked back at her mother and sighed, "But sleeping away time being afraid hurts the people who are awake, and it stops us from living."

John pulled himself up slowly off the ground and he looked down at Maddie as her hands fell to her sides and then lifted again to pluck at the buttons of her coat, undoing three before reaching in to fish out Mrs. Moffat. She held her delicately, looking the doll over slowly. John watched her give it a tight hug and then the girl nodded, and reached to hand the doll to John.

He took it gently with a frown, stating simply, "Maddie, I don't understand."

"Mummy said I had to say goodbye. So I want you to keep her," she told him firmly.

He offered a weak laugh in response, explaining, "She's your favorite, I couldn't keep your favorite."

"Mummy is my favorite," Maddie assured, "But I love Mrs. Moffat so much that maybe she has a little bit of my love stuck inside her stitches, like magic, and maybe that will help your heart, so I want you to keep her. To remember me and how I love you."

Swallowing roughly, he gave the doll a small hug and a surprised widening of his mouth and eyes that earned him a soft giggle just before she sniffled. And then John reached into his jacket with a flicker of a smirk, watching her gaze shift curiously to his hand as he pulled out a small worn red book to show her. He handed it to her and told her softly, "You have a book that belonged to my daughter filled with fairy tales and I want you to keep it because I think you'll enjoy it, but I also wanted to give you another. I've held onto it for a very long time, in a box underneath my bed. It was one of the few things that survived the fire in our house and made it to my flat and it was meant to be a Christmas present for Delia," he nodded, "That was my daughter's name."

He watched her take it and hold it gently within her mittens a moment before she glanced up at him as he explained, "I wanted her to have her own journal, something little she could carry about with her." He nodded as he watched her begin to flip the pages, through drawings and poems and taped in papers and ticket stubs, and she listened as he told her, "I've taken it with me around the world like a secret, writing down what I'd want to tell her, drawing what I'd want to show her and now that it's complete I realized that maybe it wasn't for Delia, but for you. The magic little girl I met in a dream."

John smiled when she smirked, turning down to see the last page and the drawing he'd done of her just a week ago, standing in front of the Eiffel tower. He had thought about taking Clara there, he'd been lazily looking at travel pages and he'd made phone calls – just how much would a summer getaway cost. John had asked how much it might cost including a child, one with potential disabilities. He smiled as Maddie trailed a finger over the length of dark hair he'd drawn as he pointed.

On a sigh, he explained, "Your dreams are entirely yours now. Make them wonderful and colorful and full of the fantastic life I know you'll live, and every now and again try to take me along with you. I think," he squinted and pointed to her, "I think you have just enough magic in your heart for that, Maddie Oswald."

The girl nodded slowly and then inched forward, arms wrapping around his legs and he could feel the tiny shakes of her sobs as he bent and pulled her away, kneeling again to hug her properly, brushing down her hair as he listened to her tell him on a ragged breath, "I don't wanna say goodbye."

He nodded, throat constricting as he replied, "Then we won't say it, alright, Maddie. We'll say it as though we'll see one another again, eh?"

Feeling her nod, he pried her off and stared at her reddened eyes, hands coming up to cup at her soft round cheeks, thumbs swiping at the tears that wet her face and she slowly hiccupped her way through a slow, "I'll see you in a dream, John."

Smiling and giving her left cheek a gently pat, he replied, "I'll see you in a dream, Maddie."

And without another word, the girl launched herself forward to kiss his nose before turning with the red book gripped tightly between her hands to run back to her mother. John stood and watched the woman who bent carefully, brushing at her hair with a calm smile as they spoke back and forth a moment and then Clara stood and she guided her child towards the woman at her side, nodding and moving towards him as the woman he knew was Amy, took Maddie back towards the car.

He thought about a million things he might say to her as she approached him, but nothing concrete formed except apologies, and he knew they wouldn't do either of them any good. So he took a long breath and he worked on mustering the courage to look at her face. To try and judge the anger in eyes that had thrown up a thick wall against him. The thought saddened him deeply because he knew it would be his fault, the distrust she would carry now, and he could only hope she didn't carry it long.

"Thank you," she told him simply, hands gripped tightly together in front of her.

John remained still, nodding. "Is she alright?" He questioned.

"No," Clara replied honestly, "But she will be."

"Are you alright?" He repeated.

She offered a stiff smile, telling him, "No," before adding, "But I will be."

He pushed Mrs. Moffat into his jacket and zipped it up proper, looking Clara over as she stared at a spot to his right and he closed his eyes because he knew – the park bench was there; the memories were there. Dropping his chin to his chest, he stated, "You should go."

"Stop telling me when to go," she answered roughly. Clara laughed to herself and slid her hands into the pockets of her coat, and she shrugged, "Maybe that makes it easier for you, not having to talk about it. Not having to think about it. Not having to _deal_ with it. You just bugger off right, and leave this mess behind." She nodded and admitted, "I trusted you with her heart and you broke it and in spite of that, she adores you. In spite of your lies and this ugliness you've created over these stupid insecurities of yours, she thinks you're a good man. In spite of her pain..." Clara trailed and shook her head before telling him, "I hope that lingers in your mind, that she has so much faith in you and as she grows older she'll come to understand just how childish that faith was. I hope it's something you can't so easily look at and snap _bugger off_ to as though all problems are solved with some sort of magic eraser."

Raising a hand to stop her, he agreed, "I hope so as well, but I also..."

"Don't do that," Clara growled, "Don't try to play some sort of martyr."

"No," he sighed, "No, I've made mistakes with you, and with Madeline, but I hope she never loses that faith in people, Clara, because that faith she has – that belief she has that love can heal – it's something some people never understand."

"Like yourself," she spat.

He looked away guiltily, muttering, "Like myself." Then he stated, "And I won't ever push the thought of her away, nor will I let the mistakes I've made with you both fade away to be forgotten. Maybe one day I'll become the man you both deserved from the start, but I implore you not to change on my account, Clara." He reached to grasp his chest and told her, "Don't harden your heart because of me, leave it open for her because she needs you more than anything in this world."

Wiping at the tears, Clara managed a soft laugh as she told him, "Yeah, I know that."

"Don't change," he repeated adamantly. "Don't let your anger at me change you."

"I won't," she said quietly. Then she nodded and looked up at him, letting new tears drop over her cheeks as she stated, "Good bye, John," and without allowing him the ability to respond, so much like her daughter, she offered him one final peck of her lips to his and then she turned and began a quick walk back to her car.


	41. Chapter 41

Behind her, snug in her car seat, Maddie sniffled softly, occasionally letting out the tiniest of whimpers or bringing her hand up to rub at her nose or eyes. She'd long since ripped off the mittens, tossing them aside to hold the book John had given her tightly in her lap and Clara wanted to ask her what it was – she wanted to know what that last gift had been – but she knew the girl wouldn't release it until she was back in her bed at home later that night, asleep to the world and lost to her dreams.

The girl's exhale fogged the window and Clara bowed her head, bringing her hands up to wipe the tears from her own face, turning her attention to the road in front of them before peering at the woman at her side. The woman who had surprisingly not said a word in over three minutes, something that frightened Clara because she knew it meant there was something to think about before she spoke. And if Amy wasn't simply shouting at her, it meant it was something important and it was making her nerves twist at her muscles as she took in her friend. Amy's left hand tensely gripped the steering wheel, while her right elbow leaned into the door, fingers pressed into her temple, face pale and rigid.

"What? What is it?" Clara finally asked roughly. She passed a glance through the rear-view mirror to the girl who'd jumped in the backseat at the sound of her voice, so loud and irate; so unlike herself, before looking back to the woman at her side who winced and brought her other hand down heavily onto the steering wheel to turn a corner.

"That's it," Amy barked. "That's all. Just a nice meet in the park, and then you kiss him. All of this... all of these emotions and tears you've slung around and you walk right up to him like you're just saying goodbye to a pal. Clara." She took a breath and asked, "Why the hell did you kiss him?"

"I don't know, maybe because I'm stupid!" Clara shouted in response. "Another stupid decision in my ever growing list of stupid decisions. Ok, Amy?"

"Don't get upset with me," the other woman griped.

Nodding, Clara shook her head, "No, never. I mean, if I'd ignored you, followed my instincts, I could have avoided all of this nonsense..."

The car swerved to the right and Clara watched the terror on her daughter's face as she looked immediately behind them before they came to a full stop and the girl sat, breathing heavily, holding that book tightly to her chest. Afraid they'd been followed again. Afraid of monsters.

She exhaled as she lowered her chin, feeling her eyes burn as Amy parked the car and undid her seat belt, ordering, "Out of the car, Clara."

She watched her friend switch on the radio, turning up the volume before stepping out and the door slammed as Clara sat in shock, looking out to the woman who pressed her hands into her waist, taking several steps away. Turning to Maddie, Clara took a breath and nodded to the little girl who nodded back, before telling her, "Mummy and your auntie will be right back."

"Are you going to fight?" Maddie questioned curiously.

Clara looked back to Amy before offering honestly, "Yes, sweet pea, I believe we are." Then she gave Maddie her best fake smile and added, "But everything will be fine."

She slowly removed herself from the vehicle and closed the door carefully, trying her best not to alarm her daughter, and then she walked towards where Amy was taking long breath after long breath, waiting for her until she rounded her to stand before her. To look her in the eye and declare, "You're an idiot."

Gesturing back, Clara asked, "You pulled me out of the car to tell me I'm an idiot."

"I pulled you out of the car to tell you you're an asshole. I didn't want to say that in front of Maddie, but Clara, you're an absolute asshole sometimes," she threw her hands up and let them fall heavily, "I have never forced you into anything you didn't want, so don't you ever blame me for things that happen because of the decisions you make. Ever."

"Amy, I'm upset, you know..." she began softly.

But the other woman shot quickly, "No," and then clenched her jaw, eyes wide as she told her, "You don't get to excuse this as some weird anxiety thing because I don't accept that. Not this time. You can't hurt my feelings and pretend like it's ok because your feelings were hurt by someone else." Amy looked away and shook her head, "That's not right and it's not fair and you know it."

"I know," she agreed, then bit her lip before offering a quiet, "I'm sorry." Clara gave a warbled laugh as she turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment on her friend's face any longer. "I'm sorry," she repeated, lips dropping into a frown.

Taking a step closer, Amy explained, "I understand, you know." She waited for Clara to look up at her, "You were in the hospital and Maddie was in the hospital and I was burying my daughter and I lashed out at Rory about everything until I realized one morning, watching him sleep on the couch after a long shift, I realized I was only doing it because I didn't know who to be angry at, there wasn't really anyone to be angry at, but I needed to let that out and I knew he would forgive me." She smiled weakly, "And then I realized people are fragile and relationships can break and someone can take the abuse with understanding for only so long." Amy nodded slowly, "I don't want us to break."

"We're not going to break," Clara argued, lips pressing together to keep them from trembling.

"Good," Amy stated, "Just don't yell at me again, ok?" Then she playfully punched her in the shoulder and teased, "I'm pregnant and emotional and I will throw up on you."

Clara nodded, laughing lightly, sniffling and bringing a cold knuckle to wipe at her cheeks before admitting on a heavy shrug of her shoulders, "I don't know why I kissed him, Amy. Maybe I did it to convince myself I didn't feel anything for him after all of this."

Amy bowed her head to encourage Clara to lift hers to meet her gaze before stating, "And now you know, in spite of it all, you do still feel something for him."

"Yeah," she breathed, "And it feels wrong to; shouldn't it feel wrong to?"

"Depends," Amy began softly before asking, "Do you want to be with someone who lies to you so easily, who will make up a persona and let you believe it's him, who might one day become the man Harry was and hurt your daughter."

Jaw clenching tightly, Clara shook her head and then she looked up at Amy and told her, "He's not Harry though. I can look back at Harry and see the start of what he became and how I ignored that. With John, I just see..."

"Clara," Amy interrupted, "Hindsight is always clearer." She reached out and took her hands tightly within her own, explaining, "Give this all a month or two – get past Christmas and get through to the new year and don't give him another thought until your mind is ready to really take it all in, ok?"

Clara nodded and Amy pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head.

"And if you get to that point and you still feel doubts – if you still have these feelings you have for him – I'll hold your hand when you call him, ok sweetie?"

"Yeah," Clara agreed before looking to the car to where Maddie was watching them seriously, little lips set in a frown as she told her friend, "I have a problem with waiting." They turned and Clara explained, "She's angry with me, I know it. She doesn't understand why, if he's said he's sorry, I can't forgive him and just move on like nothing's happened."

Amy considered it, then asked, "Well, why can't you then?"

Clara dropped her chin and shrugged, "I don't know, but right now I have to prioritize." She looked to Maddie again as the girl turned away. "Either I work on John, or I work on Maddie, and Maddie will always come first." She frowned, "They've just gotten a bit mixed up, and she thinks I should do both."

"Why can't you?" Amy urged.

Looking up at her in frustration, Clara grunted, "Right now, I can't. Right now I'm hurt. Right now it doesn't even seem like he cares enough to..." she trailed and shook her head.

Wincing, Amy supplied, "I don't wanna play devil's advocate, sweetie, I _really_ don't, but maybe he's trying to respect you."

Clara laughed, "Well, respected is not how I feel." She looked to the car, "I just don't know how to explain to a five year old that sometimes adults can be so utterly and devastatingly stupid and stubborn." She sighed "Myself included."

Nudging Clara, Amy took a step towards the car and whispered, "You can take her, she's only five."

"Amy," Clara groaned, beginning to follow.

"In that ridiculous coat you put her in, just sweep the legs."

"Amy!" Clara laughed.

They moved back to the car and fell into the loud music, twisting it back down to pull the car carefully back onto the road. Clara watched Maddie through the rear view, and how she looked to Amy and then met her eyes for a moment before slowly turning her head to look back out through the window at her right. Clara watched the little girl's fingers as they flexed atop the red book she held and then Maddie lifted it and tucked it into her coat, hiding it from Clara's view, hugging herself and frowning at the world.

The trio remained silent as Amy drove them back to Clara's flat and once there, the little girl slipped out of her grasp, moving towards the building before Clara caught her elbow and shouted her name, watching the look of defiance she leveled up at her. She stared a moment, watching those thick small brows remain lowered over angry eyes that stared back, before finally looking up to Amy, who glanced between the two before chuckling nervously and touching a hand to her stomach.

"Well," Amy breathed, "Suppose I'll leave you two to this very early tween showdown while contemplating the next eighteen years of my life."

Clara looked back at Maddie, still glaring up at her, and she prompted, "Say goodbye to your aunt."

The girl grumbled, "Goodbye, aunt Amy," and she tugged her body in an attempt to get free, but Clara kept her grip tight as she turned back to her friend.

"I will call you later," Amy declared, moving back into the car and slowly pulling away as Maddie attempted to yank her arm free.

"Pull me one more time," Clara began.

"And what," Maddie groaned, "You'll put me in a coma."

"Maddie!" Clara shouted, watching the girl turn away before she began to move towards the building, yanking the suddenly insolent child with her through the front doors and into the lift where she released her, staring in a sort of shock when the girl launched herself to the opposite wall with enough force to shake it.

And she charged forward when the lift doors opened as Clara called out, "You don't have a key." Words that slowed the angry girl enough that Clara caught up just before the door and opened it, pushing it in and letting Maddie stomp into the living room to stop just beside the coffee table, glaring out through a window that looked out over a field that was damp with winter's melted attempts at snow. Clara closed the door behind her and locked it, sliding a chain at the top through a slit and removing her purse to set down on the edge of the couch.

Her daughter's shoulders were high and she was removing the book from her coat, looking down at it and taking several long breaths before she turned to her. Clara didn't utter a word, she simply watched the girl as she opened the tomb and slid her finger carefully over words written there before she slammed it shut and looked up at her. The initial rage was gone, replaced with something almost worse because she knew the feelings etched into her daughter's tiny features.

Her eyes shouted their disappointment.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Her lips pouted their distain.

All aimed at her.

"I can't read!" The girl finally stated in frustration.

A hand coming out, Clara replied gently, "I could read it to you."

But the words weren't finished being said when her daughter recoiled and angrily responded, "This is mine, not yours. You made him go away being stupid; you don't get to see it!"

Clara's hand fell away, landing softly at her side as she nodded, accepting the insult and swallowing roughly as she took a long breath to watch her daughter half turn and look down at the book again. "Maddie," she called, "Tell me." And to her daughter's cautious glance, she added, "Go on, I know you're hurt and I know you're confused and I know you're angry with me, so tell me in your words." She shook her head, "We won't keep these feelings inside like secrets, it's not good for either of us and you know that."

Maddie plucked at the buttons on her coat, struggling, but Clara didn't budge, waiting for the girl to ask for the help she never did. The coat fell to the ground and she kicked it away in frustration, wobbling slightly, hands coming out for balance, and she looked back at the book. "He never lied to me," Maddie stated. "He was only scared of you."

"Being scared is not an excuse to do what he did, Maddie. There is no excuse to lie," Clara told her calmly.

"Why didn't you tell me about daddy, when I first fell asleep," the girl shot unexpectedly.

Inhaling, Clara's mouth fell open, and then she slowly made her way to the couch, sitting stiffly and looking to the girl who turned a full circle to watch her. She waited for the answer and Clara nodded, admitting, "I was scared of how you would handle that."

Maddie accepted it, looking to the ground before lifting her head to say, "I'm not mad at you, mummy."

"Yes," Clara laughed, "Yes, you are." Then she added lightly, "And that's ok."

"John made a mistake, and you said when people are sorry for their mistakes, we should forgive them."

Nodding, Clara supplied, "We forgive them, yes, because it's not good to hold that anger in our hearts, but that doesn't mean we keep those people in our lives. We have to protect ourselves from people who might hurt us, and sometimes that means walking away from people."

The girl shook her head and moved to the couch, leaning into it gently, remaining standing, and she informed Clara quietly, "Mummy, if we walked away from everyone who made a mistake, we'd be all alone." She glanced up and reminded in an even softer voice, "You make mistakes."

Clara pressed her elbows into her knees and she buried her face in her hands a moment, trying to figure out how to explain it before she turned to look up at the girl peering curiously at her and telling her firmly, "You're right," before straightening and admitting, "I'm scared and John hurt my heart with what he did and I'm scared he's going to hurt yours and nothing in this world is more important to me than you." Clara shrugged and sniffled roughly. "Maddie, I've lived enough hurt over other people's mistakes, over my own, and I can't let you…" she took a breath and watched the girl inch closer as she cried quietly, "I have to protect you and maybe I am stupid for it, but this is the only way I know how to right now."

"But what if John never hurts my heart," she bowed her head, asserting, "He's not daddy; he's not some monster. John made a mistake trying to help us. I think he's really sorry. I think he can learn."

Clara nodded and she patted the couch, waiting to see the question in her daughter's eyes drift away in favor of her daughter's understanding that Clara needed her comfort. Maddie pulled herself up and she sank into the couch beside her, slowly tilting her head to lay it against Clara's arm, her fingers still curled around the book John had given her. And Clara cried silently, nodding to herself and thinking about her tiny girl who'd already had to go through so much in her short life. Her little girl who deserved more than she could ever provide for her. She reached out a hand and Maddie released the book into her palm, taking a long breath as she did.

"I don't understand," the little girl started, "If leaving him was supposed to make my heart hurt less, why it makes it hurt so badly."

Clara laughed, choking on a sob she swallowed because those big eyes drifted up quickly to hers, waiting as she composed herself to respond honesty, "I don't understand it either. Maybe it just means I'm making another mistake." She smiled at Maddie's confusion before telling her, "Part of growing up is learning that not everything makes sense, and sometimes with time it comes together like a puzzle, and sometimes it doesn't. That's what I need right now, a little time to see if my heart and my head can make sense of it, ok?" She smiled, and then told her, "I'm sorry mummy doesn't have all the answers."

Maddie sighed and replied, "It's ok, mummy, we'll learn together."

"Like we always do," Clara whispered.

"Like we always do," Maddie repeated. The girl smiled with her and then nodded to the book, "Could you read me the first page? I think that would make the hurting go away just a little."

"Yeah," Clara breathed, carefully bringing the book up to open it delicately, feeling the girl at her side kick off her shoes and curl up closer to her as she read, "The world is an interesting place, my darling girl. No matter where you go or how you feel, it doesn't stop for a single moment. Perhaps that's why I've travelled abroad after you and your mother left. To watch as it cycles round and round. To remember that it does. Trees shed their leaves and wither like old men without coats in winter, shaking their way through snows and winds and the silence of bitter cold, but then spring comes. The world cycles forward and Spring brings life again. And leaves and the flowers and the singing birds. I hope you can hear them where you are, whistling their songs to say the world keeps turning. Always turning, little one. Always turning."


	42. Chapter 42

Clara felt the tug of her sheets and she smiled, listening to Maddie's tiny giggle as she pulled herself into the bed, knowing her mother was awake. The little girl whispered at her to wake up and then poked at her cheek lightly, falling onto the pillow beside her as she opened her eyes to see the frazzled hair and the blushed face and those big eyes, sleepily staring back at her with a grin that dimpled her left cheek easily. Her baby girl, awake and right in front of her. Her entire world, waiting on her with adoration and fidgety fingers that plucked at the bedspread, offering another set of chuckles.

"Happy Christmas," Clara whispered.

"Happy Christmas," Maddie repeated, immediately squealing as Clara leapt out and grabbed hold of her, tickling at her sides to listen to her daughter's strong laughter, feeling her eyes wet with tears at the feel of that body within her grasp, wiggling against her attempts to hold her steady. It had been a month of recovery; of therapy and long walks and visits to playgrounds she hadn't seen in a year.

A month of Clara re-establishing a routine of morning pancakes and eggs and perfecting an omelette she still held the recipe for. A month of cartoons watched, curled in each other's arms. A month of sandwiches and market trips and afternoon visits to the cinema, or sometimes a museum where her girl would stare up curiously at paintings and sculptures, her fingers sliding across the top of a worn red book that always sat tucked into a coat pocket. A month of laughing in a kitchen as they made dinner together, jazz music floating through their little flat.

A month of bedtime stories and hugs and kisses.

"Did Santa come by?" Clara questioned.

Maddie nodded, a look of excited surprise widening her eyes before she asked, "Mummy, did Santa come by last year while I was sleeping?"

Nodding slowly, Clara explained, "He came by the hospital to give me a hug for you because I sat by your side to be with you Christmas morning. And Santa said you wouldn't need toys and other things just yet, but that you would need strength and hope and a song he sings especially for sick children stuck in hospitals. So we sang to you for a few moments before he had to dash away."

The girl's mouth opened in a muted expression of wonder, and then she asked, "Mummy, I know he's a grown up, but do you think Santa went to John?"

Smiling, Clara nodded, finger reaching out to give her daughter's nose a tap before she told her, "I think Santa visits everyone, even if they're grownups, even if they're wrinkled – even if they've stopped believing – and he gives everyone some kind of present." She took a breath and finished, "Maybe he tells grownups in their sleep something they need to hear to be better people."

"Maybe he told John a secret then," Maddie whispered, "I think I know what he said."

"What?" Clara breathed.

Maddie giggled and shook her head, "It's a secret, silly!" Then the girl bounced into a sitting position and shifted, slipping off the bed to run towards the living room, shouting at her, "Get up, mummy, there are presents!"

In his flat, John sipped at a coffee and looked out through the window at the frost that coated just about everything. He knew it wouldn't snow, but he knew it would be a cold Christmas, and he smiled, thinking about Clara waking with her daughter to enjoy it. He took a long breath and turned towards the mobile that clattered slightly atop the coffee table as it rang, moving lazily to retrieve it, smiling as he imagined Jack, lying in bed in some festive pyjamas, making his obligatory daily call to check on him.

He was surprised to find Clara's face staring up at him and he accepted the call with a swipe of his thumb, bringing the mobile to his ear to softly call, "Hello?"

"Happy Christmas!"

John moved back to the window, smiling at the echo of that child's voice, laughing as his eyes closed while he replied, "Happy Christmas, Maddie – have you seen the frost outside?"

The girl giggled, "Mummy says there won't be snow, but I say she's wrong."

"Christmas often gives us little miracles," he allowed, "Perhaps tonight we'll see flurries we can catch atop our tongues."

"Perhaps," Maddie whispered.

John took a sip of his coffee and asked, "I imagine you were a very good little girl this year."

"Well," Maddie sighed, "I was asleep for most of it, so I couldn't do anything bad really." Then she admitted, "I did have a fight with mummy, but we're not mad at each other, so I think it was ok because Santa brought me a few presents. Mostly clothes though," she sighed, "Mummy says it's because I grew too much while I was sleeping and Santa says I need clothes more than toys."

John laughed, "Santa would be right." Then he explained, "There's always time for toys later."

He could imagine her nodding, and then she asked, "Mummy says Santa visits everyone and that maybe he went to see you – is that true?"

Watching a bird fly across the clouded sky, John considered the words before telling her, "I suppose he might have; Santa does usually come when one is asleep."

"Mummy says maybe he tells adults secrets, do you remember one?"

Bowing his head, he looked into his coffee and nodded, allowing, "I think maybe he told me there was a little girl who needed to know hearts can be mended, and even though I've been trying, I'll be doing my best this year to be a better man for her."

"Am I the little girl?" Maddie questioned lightly.

He smiled, "Yes, Maddie, you are."

"That's good," she replied, then she went quiet before stating, "I miss you"

John leaned his head into the window, ignoring the bite of cold on his skin as he replied, "I miss you as well."

There was a small flutter of noise and then Clara spoke and he pressed his knuckles into the window to push away from it, holding himself upright as he listened, "She wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas, I told her that could be our present to you, since there's little money and..."

"No, no," John interrupted, "It's a wonderful present."

She released a nervous laugh and asked, "How are you, John?"

Smiling, he turned to look at his flat, at the boxes that sat about, filled with his belongings and labeled meticulously, and he nodded, sipping his coffee and telling her, "As well as can be expected. Taking the medication I've been prescribed; lamenting at how aged it makes me feel to have it prescribed. But well." He paused and then questioned, "And yourself? How are you, Clara?"

"Alright," she told him quietly. "Enjoying the time off as best I can, planning to head back after the New Year, in February, and Maddie will start in a special class so she's up to speed for the school year after that. She's excited about it all. Making new friends and learning all sorts of rubbish. So it'll be an adjustment, but a good one, I think."

He was quiet, listening to her breaths over the line, wondering if she were still angry with him, and then he finally stated, "Happy Christmas, Clara."

Her exhale sounded pained and he closed his eyes, listening as she repeated, "Happy Christmas," and then the line went dead. John held it to his ear for three minutes before his arm dropped and he settled the item atop the windowsill. He took several long breaths, watching them block his view of the city before letting him look to his own reflection. John turned to look at the empty space, smiling because it wasn't very different from what it had been before, when all of his belongings sat about in their rightful places.

"Ah, Clara," he breathed into the silence.

It felt like only a blink later Clara was counting down to a new year with Amy and Rory, all watching the little girl who stood atop a short stool in a brilliantly blue dress with a red sparkly hat on her head and a noise maker held tightly in her hand. She looked from one adult to the next, screaming each number excitedly, and Clara couldn't hold back her tears as she watched her daughter give a tiny hop and spin her toy, looking to her and shouting, "Happy New Year, Mummy!"

Jumping from the stool, she made it safely into Clara's arms and she held her tightly, and Clara felt Amy's hands at her shoulders, rubbing them gently as Maddie laid her head down against her neck, arms gripped around her. She'd told her she could stay up if she behaved, imagining the girl would be sunk into the couch with her eyes closed by eleven, but she'd followed Amy around, singing songs loudly and asking questions about the baby, and she'd climbed onto Rory's back to ride through the back yard to watch people setting off early fireworks, and she'd argued with Clara against more studying.

Because they'd spent the better part of the past month preparing for school.

Maddie now tried to read John's book on her own, excited at each word, and then each sentence she could make out on her own. They travelled to Hawaii through John's eyes, to the rocky beaches in winter and up slopes of perfectly green lawns and tropical flowers towards waterfalls that dropped into frigid murky pools; they'd stood in a desert in the Australian outback, following the path of a screeching hawk on a day so hot the ground mirrored over like water for miles; they sat amongst the moss covered trees in New Zealand, looking up for the flicker of daylight almost lost behind foliage that reached into the skies. Every two to three pages was a new adventure and Maddie and Clara had spent hours in libraries looking for books so the little girl could see the reality of the pictures John had drawn or described. She stared into them, memorizing places and deciding one day they should make a list.

"One hundred and one places to see!" Maddie had told her.

She'd smiled and nodded and they'd begun scouring the Earth for destinations she promised herself she'd find a way to afford. Every summer, she told the child who slowly wrote out the word 'Paris' atop a paper, they'd find some new place – even if it was just a little spot a few hours away – and they would look for something they'd never seen before. They'd write about it and they'd draw and they'd take photos.

"And we can make John a book," Maddie had suggested.

Clara had smiled, brushing a hand over her head, "We'll make John a book; that would be lovely."

Part of her wished she'd move on from him. Every time the girl mentioned his name, Clara felt her heart drop because she understood how deeply she felt about him, even after everything. In Maddie's mind there wasn't a question of whether they would see the man again, but rather, when they would, and Clara couldn't find the strength to tell her she just wanted to move on. Because she knew her daughter would ask her why. And she knew the answer wouldn't appease her.

Because Clara was afraid.

At first she thought maybe she was afraid of his lies and the way he'd hurt her. She thought he'd turn out just like Harry had and she'd end up running with her child away from him, but she knew that was ridiculous. Clara knew John would never hurt her or Maddie. She knew what he'd done hadn't been done maliciously, nor had he meant for it to go so far. He hadn't thought to fall in love and neither had she. And that's what she'd become terrified of. That she had been in love, and the more she thought about it, the more she became afraid of the very things he'd been afraid of.

That it would be doomed from the start.

"What could he give me, really? If I'm lucky, maybe fifteen good years before things start to deteriorate?" She'd asked the question of Amy on a night her and Maddie had slept over, once the girl was already tucked into Melody's old bed and the two women were seated at the dining room table, a pint of chocolate ice cream sitting before each of them, a spoon held firmly in each of their right hands. "I mean, he could live to be a hundred. That's forty more years – that's a good life, right? Forty years with someone is something a lot of people don't get. Hell, even fifteen years is more than some get." She'd dug into the ice cream, "But no one can guarantee health, even with the technology. That heart of his could give at any moment and I'm stuck a widower. Again. And what of Maddie then? Fall in love with a father who leaves her? And what if we somehow, miraculously, had another child. One he might not see grown into adulthood."

Amy had slowly pulled the spoon out of her mouth to point it at Clara to tell her quietly, "I think you should call him."

She'd groaned in response, changing the subject to how Amy's nausea had subsided and her appetite had increased and how soon she'd start to show. Clara giggled as they talked about baby clothes and Rory's inability to handle a nappie change and how much Amy was looking forward to finding out whether she was carrying a boy or a girl. They'd cried softly together a while, free hands holding tightly to each other as they mourned Melody for a few moments, telling stories about her wild spirit and how much they missed her.

They'd watched Maddie sleeping, arm clutching around one of Melody's old dolls, John's red book laid carefully atop the bedside table. Now the girl clung to her in a moment they should be celebrating, and Clara could feel her crying. She moved quickly towards the couch where she sat and pried her off, looking into her bloodshot eyes, wondering whether it was a symptom of being overtired, or whether...

"I miss Melody," the girl sobbed. "I miss her here."

Clara looked to Amy and the way her chin trembled, and she looked to Rory, who moved behind his wife to hug her and kiss at her temple. And then Clara looked back to Maddie, realizing suddenly that they hadn't talked about her friend in the real world – only in a dream. A dream where she'd explained her friend had gone to be with her own Gran Gran in a better place. And Clara knew that was the last her daughter had truly spoken about it there, choosing instead to lose herself in that fantasy world.

"I'm sorry," Clara breathed, "I'm so sorry, I know you miss her. We all miss her."

"Why does everyone leave?" Maddie demanded pathetically. "Daddy and Danny and Melody and now John is gone too!"

Clara pulled her into a secure hug, rubbing at her back as she felt her crying. "Not everyone leaves, Maddie, and leaving doesn't mean ending – Danny came back, right? And we go to the park with him sometimes. And aunt Amy and uncle Rory are still here, and your grandfather, and Gran Gran's still around."

The cries quieted slightly and Clara could feel her little hands gripping at her sides and something about the moment suddenly struck her as odd. She tried to get a look at her daughter, feeling Amy and Rory shift away to give them a little privacy, but the girl had buried her face into her arm.

"What is it?" Clara asked in a hushed voice. "Maddie," she prompted.

The little girl lifted herself up slowly, eyes trained on Clara's stomach as she began softly, "John was scared we wouldn't like him because he's older, because he might not have a lot of time." She looked to Clara's subtle honest nod, and then asked, "How long will you be here?"

Exhaling, Clara understood, with everything that had happened, her daughter had quietly begun to contemplate mortality and she knew one day her own mother would be gone from her life. Watching her daughter's lips shake, a tremor that began to work its way slowly through the small body planted atop her thighs, Clara shook her head and pulled her into another hug, taking several long breaths as Maddie laid her ear to her chest, listening to her heartbeat.

"No one knows how long they'll be around, Maddie," she told her. "Some people are here a really long time, like your Gran Gran who's going to live to be a thousand as far as I'm concerned," she smiled when she felt her daughter's light giggle, "And then some people only get four years, like Melody." The girl exhaled warmly against her breast. "I hope I'm here a really long time, because I want to see you grown, maybe with children of your own one day, but I can't promise you that I'll be here that long – I can only hope."

Maddie lifted herself again, this time her pause long enough for them to hear the crackle of fireworks and the whispers in the kitchen between the other two in the house. Taking a long breath, Maddie meditated on some thought Clara waited to hear and when it arrived in a slow sentence, she closed her eyes against the brutal truth of it. "Mummy, I don't understand why, if we both love him so much and we don't know how long we're going to be here, we can't keep John for as long as he is."

"And the penny drops," she heard Amy sigh just before Rory's shushing.

Clara nodded, swallowing roughly, and she reached for her mobile, sitting on the coffee table, swiping it on and tapping into her contacts to find his ridiculous face – a face that elicited a soft giggle from the both of them – and she pressed the call button, bringing the phone to her ear. Because Maddie was right. And Clara was stupid. And time was scarce, as John himself had once told her. She listened, watching the grin on her child's face grow, and then Clara frowned, bringing the mobile down to stare at it in confusion.

"What is it?" Amy asked, touching her shoulder lightly.

Clara shook her head, informing them, "He's disconnected his number."


	43. Chapter 43

"She is so much stronger than she should ever have had to be," Clara managed to whimper into her mobile, looking to the girl tucked into her bed, an array of toys spread out across the floor. A therapy session, she'd called it – because her five-year-old knew what a therapy session was outside of physical healing; because her five-year-old had a session once a week with psychologist because of what her father had done – and like those sessions, Clara hadn't been allowed to join. She'd stood in the hallway, trying to hear the words muttered and hissed from her daughter to those dolls, catching only fragments that had her biting back tears until she declared it was bedtime and listened to the girl moan in protest.

"Friends die," the girl had grunted.

"Mummies lie," she said almost inaudibly.

 _"_ Daddies leave," she growled before something hit the wall with a squeak.

"Is she still upset about John?" Amy questioned.

It had been a month since they rang in the New Year, huddled on a couch together, crying themselves into a stupor after which Rory had stripped the sleeping little girl away from Clara's limp arms to lay her in a proper bed and Amy had sat beside her, urging her to lay down and get some sleep. She hadn't. She'd merely stared at a blackened television screen until Amy had gone to bed with Rory, and she continued staring until the first rays of morning. When she'd walked outside and climbed the rickety steps up into a tree house where she hugged at her legs and rested her chin to her knees until Amy threatened to climb up after her.

Her daughter had poked at her food, occasionally taking a bite, and Clara noticed she hadn't greeted her. Nor had she looked in her direction through that whole morning as they'd dressed and put their things back in their overnight bags to head home. Her first real words to her had been during a bath that evening, as she took a small green and blue plastic boat and floated it over the bubbly water, not lifting her eyes from the boat to tell her, "I'm sorry, mummy. I know you're sad too."

That night she asked Clara to put the red book on her shelf and Clara looked to it now, knowing with that book would go all of her enthusiasm to travel. She hated herself most for that, for knowing her child had been so enthused by the idea that they could run across John somewhere out in the world that she'd been willing to go everywhere and anywhere, and now she didn't know how long it would be before that came back in some way, or if it ever would at all. She hoped the fervor would return, because Clara still wanted to go. She wanted to climb in her car and start driving and see something new and she wanted that excitement for her daughter.

"A bit, yeah, among other things," Clara told Amy. "Tomorrow school starts; it'll get better then. Her mind will be distracted by the new environment and the other kids and the lessons."

Amy interrupted, "Same for you, yeah?"

She smiled, "Yeah, all the distractions will be good."

"The kids are so happy you're coming back, they'll be totally uncontrollable tomorrow," Amy informed her on a chuckle. "They hate the Headmaster being in there every day. Headmaster's not thrilled either. Just before holidays, I saw him fuming in the car park."

Hand covering her face, she groaned, "Trevor's pointed out Australia, I'd put money on it."

"He should be glad a six-year-old can identify Australia!" Amy barked.

Clara laughed.

"But how are you, sweetie?" Amy questioned lightly.

Nodding to herself and watching as Maddie half turned in the bed, Clara replied honestly, "I'm still a bit pissed, to be honest. That he would simply cut off like that? His friend Jack says he's mailed him a post card, but hasn't really been in contact, won't say where he is exactly – says he's worried he'll do something stupid." Clara sighed. "John doesn't want to deal with me or the world, I'm ok with that, but Maddie? I thought maybe, for a while, Maddie could have those calls with him. I thought it could make it easier to ween her off, or even let her have that relationship. Maybe he doesn't want it, I mean, if he doesn't want to fight for me, or his friendships, why should I expect him to do anything for her. I don't know," she ended simply.

The line was silent and Clara waited, and then the other woman supplied, "Clara, I'm so sorry, but, I'm falling asleep."

She smiled, telling her friend on a giggle, "Go get sleepy, mummy, I'll see you tomorrow."

Amy feigned a laugh and then Clara ended the call, gripping the mobile in her hand and turning away from Maddie's door to find her own bed to fall into. Slipping under the sheets, she passed a glance at the bedside table, to the photos of her and Maddie that were new and made her heart swell just a bit because of it, and for a moment she wished she had her box. Perhaps she could find a way to connect to him through it, she thought, even though she knew the notion was ridiculous. She fell asleep wondering just where he'd gone off to, hoping he was safe.

He wasn't too far. Just a few hours away by train, sitting in a quiet booth in a tiny restaurant, staring down at an odd meal, holding a glass of water and thinking about the empty space across from him. He could have called Jack up and invited him over for the weekend, but his wasn't the company he wanted. He wasn't ready for their company yet. Letting a finger slide over the condensation on the glass, he sighed, imagining the girl who would point at his food and declare with indignant disgust, "That looks gross."

John laughed just a little.

"Don't be rude," Clara would tell her in a hushed tone, "It's always good to try new things."

Maddie would shake her head, lips pressing together tightly as she fell back into the booth with her arms crossed as she looked to her own plate, Clara lamenting, "You can't live on grilled cheese sandwiches forever."

"I suppose you could," John told no one, head toggling.

He ate quietly, paid politely, and then left, strolling through the frozen streets back towards the little room he'd rented out for the month. He wasn't sure if this was a stop or a final destination, but he looked out at the snowflakes curling around the air in front of him, and for a moment he considered it a home. Where the people often spoke a different language, and the food was entirely different from what he'd grown used to in London, and the architecture held a rich history he knew he'd never grow tired of exploring. In a few days he would have to decide whether to stay or move on. In a few days he would send Jack another postcard to let him know he was alright.

He kicked at a rock and watched it skitter over the damp sidewalk and land in a small pile of snow that had managed to stick to the edge of a lamppost. He could send her a card too, he thought with a lifting of his thick brow. He could tell Madeline Oswald about the colors of the sunsets and the sound of seagulls and the dances of people celebrating life. Of course, he wanted them to move on from him and it would be impossible if they kept that line open. Of course, it also made his heart pump and his head spin, and he promised himself he'd send her only one card – when he'd settled again.

Because, he imagined, if she responded he would know.

Perhaps there was a chance.

But they both needed that time and space apart, as difficult as it felt.

John leaned into the lamppost and he looked up at the drizzle of snow now peppering his hair and kissing at his face. Clara would love this place, he thought to himself absently, listening to the laughter of a couple strolling nearby; Clara would make this place feel like home, he knew. John bowed his head and pushed off the post, letting his legs carry him back to the room in the space above a bakery. He fell into bed and kicked off his shoes, listening to the knocking of a couple in the room rented next to him, some argument he didn't understand mutedly making its way through the walls.

"Good night," he said aloud to the empty space and he closed his eyes to the world.

Come morning, Clara found herself struggling to keep pace with the clock staring at her from her bedside. She'd forgotten what it was like, having a schedule to keep, and she brushed at her teeth, listening to the girl in the other room shouting, "Mummy, where are my Wellies!?"

"You're not wearing Wellies to school!" Clara mumbled back through the foam in her mouth.

Maddie swung into the bathroom as she rinsed her mouth out, squeaking, "It snowed!"

"Get your boots," Clara told her firmly, watching her pout. Because Amy bought her bright yellow Wellies with bold little sets of double hearts stamped in a pattern over them and Maddie thought they were so amazing she had to wear them every time they walked up to visit her grandpa, and she had to wear them to the market, and the park, and the little diner around the corner where they had milkshakes on Saturdays after dinner. "Go," Clara called on a laugh, watching her daughter giggle before rushing back towards her room.

She got her daughter into her boots and double checked the girl's backpack and her own set of bags to make sure all was in order before marching her down to the lift and then through the lobby and into the carpark where she groaned, trying to get her into her booster. Something the girl was quite proud of, the fact that she'd outgrown the car seat and could now sit almost like a normal child. Clara smiled at the girl who looked out through the window to wave at a neighbor heading off to work.

Clara slipped into the driver's seat and she took the wheel, navigating the streets as stealthily as she could through the morning traffic, the weather and some random tunes whining up at her from the radio. Parking, she glanced back at the girl behind her, transfixed in a sleepy stare at the world just outside the window and Clara smiled, waiting until the girl blinked and then glanced around, meeting her eyes through the rear view.

"Ready?" Clara asked softly.

Maddie nodded and gasped, "Yeah."

She moved with her through the crowd of students, hand held firmly as they made their way towards Clara's classroom, stepping inside the empty space so Clara could set her bags down and sit, looking to the girl who stood in front of her, smirking deviously as Clara explained, "You'll only be a few doors down, and it's really only a few hours, and your teacher, Ms. Sullivan, she knows me well, so if you need me for anything, just tell her, ok.

Maddie reached up to cover Clara's mouth playfully, laughing as she replied, "Mummy, I know, you told me a hundred time."

They turned towards the set of trainers that stomped into the classroom and the exasperated, "Thank God you're back, Miss, I dunno how the Headmaster got to be Headmaster, he's a terrible teacher."

Standing, Clara laughed and nodded, "Hello Trevor, it's good to see you too." She looked down at her daughter, who was watching Trevor curiously, and then she looked to Trevor, who was standing deadly still, swallowing roughly as he met the girl's gaze. After a moment, Clara touched Maddie's shoulders and stated, "Well, Trevor, I have to get Maddie to her own class, if you could do me the favor of keeping an eye on things here until I get back?"

He blinked and stammered and then looked up at her and muttered awkwardly, "Yes, Miss," and then Clara moved into the hall with her daughter, seeing her fidget with her fingers.

"Mummy," Maddie called, glancing up as Clara nodded, "Will Trevor be in my class next year?"

Chin lifting as her eyes widened, Clara smiled and declared, "That is entirely possible, but it's my job to ensure that doesn't happen," and to Maddie's perplexed glance, she added, "I'm a teacher, I have to teach him into the next grade, right?" She exhaled as she watched her blushing child turn away. Boys, Clara understood, would no longer be icky much sooner than she'd hoped.

Guiding Maddie towards the classroom in which a young blonde woman already stood, scratching away at the white board, Clara laughed to herself, and then she helped her daughter find the seat on which a small placard sat with "MADELINE OSWALD" written neatly across it.

"That's my name," Maddie told her with a grin as she pointed.

"This is your desk," Clara informed her, watching her little face twist quickly to stare down in wonder at the pristine desk before shifting out of her coat and backpack to slide into the seat, holding tightly to the edges. Pulling out her mobile, Clara moved to take a photo, feeling her body go warm with an odd sense of pride at seeing her daughter's feet swinging excitedly beneath her as she beamed up at her, eagerly awaiting her first class. She pocked the device and bent beside her, telling her quietly, "You're going to learn a lot today."

Nodding, Maddie replied, "Yeah, lots, and you're going to teach a lot today."

Smiling, Clara cried, "Yeah, lots."

"Mummy," Maddie called just as she stood. She turned and the girl giggled, telling her, "Have fun."

Clara laughed, she laughed aloud in a way she felt she hadn't done in a very long time, watching her daughter giddily laughing at back her. She went back to her classroom and she was greeted by twenty seven hugs, by random stories of things the Headmaster had done with them and how Trevor had, on day they'd been sitting very quietly to take a test, just before holidays, pointed and shouted, "Australia!"

She didn't teach very much, but she didn't care. Her lunch was spent in the teacher's lavatory, measuring the progress on Amy's stomach, which they could now see had definitely begun to curve outward. Her afternoon was spent deciding what she'd make for dinner while the children took turns reading. Her drive home was spent listening to the girl behind her yammering on and on and on _and on_ about everything she'd done that day and how much she loved school.

Her mouth felt like it might collapse from smiling too much by the time she got home and stood in front of her mail box, twisting the key to retrieve the few letters there, and she sifted through them as Maddie detailed how she had impressed the teachers by already knowing how to read and how she had homework she looked forward to, and how she wanted to take a quick bath to sleep early because she was exhausted. Her words only ended when she heard Clara's bag drop to the ground to look up at her shocked face as she held an envelope in her hands, frozen to the spot.

"Mummy," Maddie asked, "What is it?"

"Important Documents for your mummy's eyes only," was all she responded at first, and then she offered her daughter a winning smile, elaborating, "It's probably from the school, some secret lesson plan for the students."

Maddie raised an eyebrow and watched as Clara shoved the envelope and the rest of the mail into the bag she'd dropped before ushering the girl upstairs. She set the bag down as calmly as she could and tried not to think about it, because it was a package from a lawyer's office – a lawyer's office Harry dealt with – but she wouldn't dare look at the contents until after she'd made her daughter a plate of macaroni and cheese and ham, helped her through her homework while she marked her own, and then sang through a bath. Clara put on her best happy face as she read to her daughter at her bedside and then tucked her in, kissing her forehead before looking her over.

Her sweet little smile and her tired little eyes.

Once the girl was asleep, she rushed back out to rip the envelope from her bag, unsealing it to pluck the paperwork out to spread over the small dining room table, frowning and scratching at her head and then calling to quietly curse at her father before dialing Amy to detail it all in a hushed voice.

"Harry had a will," she breathed, glancing up, listening to the silence in her house. "He left the house to us, he left some trust fund to Maddie for her schooling that she'll gain access to on her sixteenth birthday, he left me a ridiculous amount of money – money my father knew about because _apparently_ he'd been in contact with this lawyer ever since the accident. They'd been arranging Maddie's healthcare with this money and no one told me a damned thing. He always told me not to worry about money and I just never questioned him. I never questioned him at all and this whole time he's been dealing with…"

"Clara," Amy shouted, "Stop, take a deep breath!"

"I'm to make an appointment with their office, to go in and sign a bunch of things. I guess signing it over from my father's care to my own – there's an account, Amy, a whole bloody account that's more than my salary for the next twenty years, probably more. God! How come Harry never told me about this? Shouldn't he have gotten my consent to do this?"

"You're the only person I know who would argue against inheriting large sums of money."

She managed a small smile before arguing, "I'm glad for it, I am, but, it's Harry's money. Harry, Amy. After everything he did to me, to us, why leave us with this?"

Amy took a breath and told her honestly, "He was crazy, Clara." Then she laughed, "And who cares, you can get out of that little flat of yours, give Maddie a house to run around in."

Rubbing a hand over her face and leaning back in her chair, Clara groaned and slapped at the papers that sat in front of her, "I don't want the house he fucked me in."

"Then sell it," Amy countered firmly, "Get a new house. One without… _that_. One you and Maddie can make a home."

"I don't want Maddie to think this makes her father a good man – it only makes him a rich man who did one bloody thing right," she growled.

Her friend offered a humph of agreement, and then went quiet.

"You're falling asleep, aren't you," Clara stated.

"Yes," Amy sighed, "But Clara, be happy."

"I'm happy," she sang lightly.

Her friend grunted a good night and the phone line went dead, leaving Clara looking at the paperwork with a shrug and a shake of her head. She closed her eyes and set the mobile down atop it all, burying her face in her palms before taking a long breath to retrieve the rest of her mail, pulling out the bills and the ads and setting them down before collecting all of the legal documents to shove back into their envelope. She pushed that envelope into her bag, not seeing the postcard that had arrived for her from a seaside town in France, being buried underneath.


	44. Chapter 44

Maddie's legs swung back and forth underneath her, occasionally tapping at the hardwood desk they sat in front of, and she watched as her mother signed document after document, not entirely sure of what her she was doing. The woman hadn't explained, merely stated they'd had to take the day off schooling to get something important done, something she'd tell her about when she was ready. Maddie felt more than ready, looking towards a window and the grey sky outside peppered in light snow. She smiled then, hoping they'd get to make snowmen, or snow angels, or simply take a stroll through the flakes that danced their way to the ground.

"And that's it," she heard the man across from them state, "Thank you very much, Ms. Oswald for coming by so promptly. Everything you need is in these envelopes and if you require our assistance for anything, we're only a phone call away."

Maddie turned back to look as her mother accepted a new set of envelopes she took with shaky hands as she stood, pushing them into her oversized bag before holding out a hand for Maddie to take. Maddie dropped out of the chair and looked to the hand that hugged firmly around hers. It was trembling, and the notion that something very wrong had just happened made the girl's heart pound in her chest as they left the room with a quiet thank you before moving out into the lobby and then into the hall. Maddie watched the lights of her trainers reflect onto the shiny flooring and she touched the wall as they stood by an elevator, finger tracing over patterns in the marble. It was fancy, she knew. The fanciest place she'd ever been, and she looked up at her mother, watching her stare at the line that would soon part to allow them entrance to the lift.

"Mummy," she said simply, waiting for the woman to glance down at her. To give her that odd smile she'd been wearing all week. Because of this place and those papers, Maddie knew. She'd heard her mother have a hushed and harsh conversation with her grandfather, one that never made it through the front door. She watched the woman whispering on the phone, climbing out onto a fire escape they never used to nod along with someone for a half hour while she did her homework. She heard her cry, locked in the bathroom after dinner.

Maddie wished on stars that night that John would come back to right it all again.

She wrote him a letter to tell him she missed him. She wrote him a letter to tell him she needed him. She wrote him a letter to ask him to bring the smile back to her mother's face and the blue to her skies and she folded it like an airplane, sending it off on a breeze out through her window after her mother had gone to sleep. Magic, she imagined, must exist outside of sleeping, and if it did, she believed, it could get her request to him.

Her mother gripped her hand as the small ding signaled the lift's arrival, and Maddie stepped in with her, holding tight to her as they rode down to the ground floor, exiting and making their way through a rounded glass door they spun twice around. Her mother laughed with her and it calmed her, but no sooner had they stepped out into the cloudy day, than her laughter trickled to an anxious stop.

They went into the car park and Maddie climbed in without question, buckling her seat belt and waiting for her mother to begin driving to ask quietly, "Mummy, since we're not going to school today, could we go to the park?"

She watched her mother glance at a clock before stating, "It's fairly early, we could still go to school."

Maddie frowned and then met her mother's eyes in the rear view, understanding she was joking, and she shook her head, giggling, "No school today, mummy." Then she nodded, "Today we have an adventure."

Clara laughed again, softly and quickly, and she gestured forward with her left hand, maneuvering through the quiet streets towards a park that was frosted over in snow. It was quiet there like nothing Maddie had heard in her life, like sound itself had ceased to exist, and she stood at the edge of the playground with her hands balled at her sides, hidden inside thick mittens, contemplating the stillness of it all.

"What's on your mind, sweet pea?" Her mother asked gently, rubbing at her own face with a gloved knuckle. Wiping at tears she didn't want her to see, Maddie knew.

The girl took a long breath, watching it disappear into the air in front of her before telling her, "It reminds me of the dreams we used to have. Just you and me, alone in a place that should be wonderful, but is just a little bit odd." She looked up suddenly, "Mummy, how do we know we're not dreaming?"

Clara nodded out to the playground and offered, "Try to make them change with your dream magic."

Closing her eyes and pressing her lips together, Maddie concentrated on making the sun warm. She tried to think about her favorite slides and flowers she'd love to see again and honey bees buzzing about. She tried to call the Doctor with his silly face, and then she tried to call the real man hidden underneath, but when she opened her eyes, it was all the same. The cold metal sat untouched in a maze of bars. The grass was dying, brown and muddy in spots. But, she smiled, her mother still stood by her side, hand shifting to pull her into a half hug.

"What were those papers you signed?" Maddie questioned.

Exhaling, Clara moved forward and brushed the snow off the end of a long slide and she sat, settling her bag atop her lap to explain, "Sometimes, when people die, they leave things behind for the people who were in their lives." She looked her over and Maddie blushed. Her mother always looked at her in the same way that made her feel warm inside, like she was unwrapping a beautiful present every time she saw her. Maddie hated when she looked away, watching as she did to continue, "Your father left us a few things and I had to go get them is all."

"What sort of things?"

Her mother considered the question. Maddie knew she was trying to find just the right answer. The answer that would hurt them both the least and she hated that her mother had to do that so often. That she was always put in that position of having to hurt her own heart to protect Maddie's. Reaching forward, she took hold of her hands and gave them a squeeze, smiling when her mother lifted her eyes to hers, sighing when the woman smiled in return.

"I think," she began softly, "I think maybe he knew he made mistakes with us, the most terrible ones a person could make, and this was his way of trying to give us a chance at the better future we deserve. Something he could never do while he was alive."

Glancing aside, Maddie chewed her lip, not quite understanding, but she nodded anyways. "Mummy, it's too cold here," she offered lightly, "Could we go home and have biscuits and tea and watch cartoons."

Her mother laughed, "You, _you_ want tea?"

She shrugged, "It could be alright, with a bit of honey, I think."

Clara reached into her bag for her keys and sighed, "Alright, Maddie, we'll have some." She hissed and pulled her hand out quickly, looking to the thin red line of a paper cut on her thumb before pulling her bag wider, trying to find the source. "I hope that's not important," she lamented.

Watching on tip toe, hands curled around her mother's knees, Maddie waited until she plucked a small postcard free, smirking at the boats and the bright buildings pictured there, the words "Palavas-les-Flots" stamped across it in bold yellow letters, outlined in red. Her mother was giving it a curious look and then that look fell away, replaced with the wide eyed bite of shocked understanding as she flipped it over and Maddie could see her breathing quicken.

"Mummy?" She questioned in a wavering voice, seeing the way her mother's eyes welled with tears.

"Maddie," Clara replied, gaze coming up, "You know how you said today would be an adventure?"

She smiled, nodding slowly.

Clara handed her the card and Maddie held it a moment, frowning at her mother, who prompted her to look at what she held with a point of her finger and a nod. Slowly, Maddie let her eyes drift down to the words written there neatly, in familiar handwriting. She bit the inside of her cheek nervously before she began to read aloud with her mother's help, "There are boats as far as the eye can see, and the wind smells of salt and sand. Reminds me of dreams I used to love and it feels a bit like a home I found there. One I miss dearly and hope to return for soon."

Maddie gasped, lifting her eyes to her mother to see a look in that woman's face she didn't think she'd ever seen before. It was an excitement, tinged with a touch of danger that set Maddie's heart thumping as her mother asked her quietly, "How would you like to fly to France today to find this stupid man and bring him home?"

On an old beach, just a small strip of sand settled between lines of colorful buildings and seashore market stalls, and docked boats that sat quietly, not as far away from his old home as it felt, John looked out at the calm waters he'd been unable to look at for days. That was how it had been since he'd left. He thought maybe if he moved from one side of France to the other; he thought maybe if he put enough distance and watched the sun rise over the sea instead of settling into a channel of water he knew connected to her, maybe he could begin to move on, except he knew the truth – he never would.

This, he told himself, was merely an interruption.

A time for gathering the strength to return.

He smiled down at the sketch book he held. At the start of a new drawing of that shoreline in front of him, a few boats dotting the horizon on their way out to better fishing grounds, at the duo he'd drawn in, holding hands at the water's edge, feet tickled by the cold sand beneath them. His heart ached in a way medicine couldn't relieve and he feared that pain, knowing he had to alleviate it, or it would bring him an early death. Something he quietly promised a little girl he would try to avoid on a night when he missed her voice so terribly, he'd cried.

Glancing back up, he imagined he thought he heard her calling out to him, inhaling the salty breeze deep into his lungs before he realized... _he could hear her calling out to him_. John turned, startled, and could see in the distances, walking along the beach, a woman and a small child, each bundled as best they could against the winter air that still sat coldly in his chest. He thought maybe he was imagining them, and he smiled at the thought, watching the woman undo a white scarf that'd been wrapped at her neck to wave it slightly as his body turned fully towards them.

"Clara," he breathed, acknowledging she was real.

She held tightly to her daughter, approaching him slowly, careful about their steps in the unpredictable sand. John raised a hand against the bright morning sun and he smiled, but didn't budge, and Clara wondered what was going through his mind then, seeing them approaching. It had been a long twenty four hours since they'd jumped back into that car; a long twenty-four hours in which she'd thought of a million things to say to him if she found him. She'd convinced herself they'd travel out there and he'd be gone again, some ghost of a memory they'd cry over before heading home and yet...

"You're not supposed to be here," he called out to her.

"Don't be alarmed," she laughed in response, "I'm merely coming to do a system's check."

She released Maddie then, giving up the struggle to contain the girl, and watched her dash across the space that still stood between them, an eager giggle ripping through the quiet air as her arms swung out at her sides. Clara watched the joy that erupted over John's features as he bent to accept her daughter's hug, lifting her easily into the air to give her a twirl before stopping to hold her a moment, eyes closed as he rubbed at her back. And Clara leisurely made her way to his side, touching his elbow to gain his attention.

"What are you doing here?" He breathed, eyes reddening as he nodded, confusion dropping his brow.

On a shrug, Clara stated, "We tried calling to ask when you were coming home, but you'd disconnected your number. So obviously, we did the next logical thing."

Maddie lifted up to tell him brightly, "We flew in a plane, John. It took forever!"

"Arrived in the evening," Clara smiled, "We walked around a bit, had a really weird dinner neither of us could pronounce properly, and then we called it a night."

"We slept in a place that smelled like old ladies," Maddie whispered, before giggling, "And then we got up early to come look for you. I knew you'd be here on the beach. I knew it."

He poked at her belly and explained, "That's because you have magic, even when you're awake."

She leaned into him, telling him in secret, "I made a wish on every star in the sky to find you. I think they found you for us."

John let out a satisfied little groan when she hugged him again, feeling full in a way he hadn't in months. And then he looked to Clara and the smirk she wore as she watched him with her daughter. Patting Maddie's back, he offered, "Why don't you go play in the sand, I believe your mother would like a word with me."

The girl lifted up and nodded, slipping away from him to frolic along the water's edge, trainers splashing lightly as Clara surveyed the beach, confirming they were the only inhabitants before she turned her attention fully to the man waiting. "I had a lot of time to think," she told him firmly.

Hands clasping together, John asked, "And you've come to a conclusion."

She smiled, "You were wrong to not tell me, John, but I was wrong to hold it against you since I did technically _tell you_ not to and I'm sorry for all of this, because the blame is as much mine as yours, if not moreso. And the blame for all of this wasted time is definitely mine and mine alone." His hands did a circle, prompting her to continue, and she laughed, "I realized I was being stupid and stubborn, holding the wrongs of my ex-husband against you, thinking you could hurt me and Maddie. Even though I knew you'd never do that, not on purpose, would you."

Head bowing, John shook it, telling her plainly, "I wanted to give you help where I saw you didn't have it, and then I wanted to give you love even though I thought myself incapable, and then I wanted to offer you the world when maybe it wasn't my offer to give." He sighed, "I'm sorry I didn't try harder to win you back sooner; that you had to come kick me out of my stupor." He laughed with her and looked to Maddie. "And there's nothing I can do about the time we've missed over this, or the time I'll miss in the future – the unpredictable number of days I have left – but a brave little girl told me recently that it's not about the maths, it's about the heart and what we choose to do with it."

"Sounds like a clever little girl."

Shrugging, he offered her a smirk, "Well, she takes after her mother."

Blushing, Clara looked to the girl, seeing her trying to skip a stone against the still waters. Her arms shot up when she did, turning to offer them both a beaming grin and a set of waves they returned. Taking a long breath, she looked back to the man who waited for her full attention again and she unclenched her hands at her waist, letting them fall against her hips.

John nodded, his own hand dropping still at his side as he told her honestly, "I've wasted so much of my time worrying, Clara, about what _had_ gone wrong and what _could_ go wrong. I've wasted so much time concerned by what others think of how I go about my life; too much time concerned about things that matter very little in the end and I understand now that all of this negativity has only robbed me of so much of the beauty I thought existed only in those dreams we shared. It wasn't until recently that I came to that understanding, because of Maddie. That we paint reality in much the same way as we paint out dreams and that I had so much more power outside of those little magic boxes that connected our subconscious's than I could ever have imagined."

With a satisfied smile, Clara asked, "And what would you like to do with this newfound power?"

John looked to Maddie and then took a step closer to her, telling her gently, "I think I'd like to spend the rest of my days living out these waking dreams of what _could_ be, knowing we could make our time whatever we'd like."

Plucking up the fabric of his grey hooded jumper from between the edges of his black Peacoat, Clara nodded and agreed, "Five years, or fifteen, or fifty, we make the most of our time, right, John?" She looked up at him, giving him a timid smirk he mirrored, "And to hell with what anyone else thinks."

John leaned into her, kissing her tentatively as she gripped his jumper, inhaling deeply as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer before they were interrupted by a vivacious set of giggles and a playfully annoyed, "Mummy!"

They turned to look down at Maddie as she lifted her hands to her mouth to cover up her laughter before Clara asked on a laugh, "Does the kissing bother you?"

Straightening, Maddie shook her head, chirping, "Nope." Then she looked between them and questioned delicately, "Mummy, are we going to have a sleepover before we take John home?"

Glancing up at the man who shrugged, Clara told her honestly, "Possibly, why?"

Maddie clapped her hands together to tell them sternly, "Because aunt Amy said babies start at grown up sleepovers and since her and uncle Rory are having another girl, I'd like to request a baby brother for my birthday."

Clara groaned and reached to tickle the girl, gasping, "Alright, I think all the French air has made you a bit loopy, time to hop on a plane back to fresh English air!" She listened to Maddie giggle madly before rushing away from her. Then the girl slowed to keep a few steps ahead as Clara leaned into the man standing beside her, beginning to walk behind the child who stepped carefully through the sand, picking up occasional rocks and shells to examine before deciding which to drop into her pockets.

Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, John chuckled, telling her, "With enough time, perhaps we could satisfy her request eventually," and then he asked quietly, "When is her birthday?"

Taking a small breath, Clara offered, "End of October, Halloween, actually." Then she explained, "If she's talked to Amy, who has no filter, and uncle Rory, who would want to make sure she knows facts in the most delicate way possible, then she's learned a few things and she's done the maths." Sighing and lifting her brow, Clara informed him, "Her birthday is in nine months and I'm hoping she's satisfied with a fish."

They laughed together, watching the girl stop just a little longer to look at something curious before deciding to hold onto it, moving forward again in a steady walk. John sighed, curling his arm slightly to bring Clara closer to him. He smiled and looked out at the sky and huffed a breath of confusion as he stopped, gesturing up to say, "Have you ever seen it so blue?"

Clara took a breath and turned her attention upwards, grinning at the bright skies overhead, not questioning where the clouds had gone. Perhaps it was some omen, she considered, because she didn't want to think about the logic of the weather. And because the little girl who'd returned to her side, hugging tightly to her thigh, was giggling up at them knowingly.

Brushing a hand over her soft hair, she looked to John and sighed, "Only in my dreams."


End file.
